Fetal Flaw
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Fem!Altair One night with Malik was all she had wanted. Just one night, and she could get over anything she felt for him. But no one bothered to tell her that when things like that happen, there can be bigger consequences. And in such a male-dominated castle, there is no one to tell her what's going on, so with dread, she decides she'll have to struggle through this alone.
1. Chapter 1

It's been three months since her first time before everything comes to light.

Truth be told, the tiny differences hadn't really bothered her. When her monthly bleeding didn't come three times in a row, she was ecstatic. There was no serious, crippling pain or giant mess she had to deal with. So, she dismissed it as a blessing and continued to do her job to regain her status, reminding herself that Al Mualim had been generous to accept her into the brotherhood and train her. Her breasts had hurt, and hurt badly at times, but she didn't have an option of stopping. So, instead of binding her chest so tightly as she was used to doing, she let her breasts out a little bit, binding them loosely, extremely loosely, and ignoring the leers from the older assassins and the curious stares of the novices and the bright-eyed youths. Her breasts seemed bigger than she remembered, but she had bound them flat against her chest for years. It helped that she was small-chested to begin with, but it seemed that she was inching into a medium-sized chest without realizing it. It hurt, but it was manageable.

Of course, she also started to lose her flat belly with the pain in her breasts. Even then, she didn't care. She simply seemed to take it as a good sign she was finally putting on a bit of weight. Even Al Mualim seemed pleased with it. There was no doubt he had been worried with the amount of weight she had lost after Solomon's Temple. The extra size and the cushiony weight proved to them both that she was finally stepping forward from her losses.

But it's been about three months now since she lost her virginity, and Malik has been even crueler to her. Still, as she sinks into the pillows at the bureau, she can't help but feel good. She closes her eyes, running her hands over her rounding belly and smiling. She's finally gaining weight. She sleeps soundly that night, dressed in just her robes and pants, having taken everything off.

When she wakes and eats breakfast, she's sick to her stomach. Everything comes back up. And it's a violent retching, too. She's trembling and hungry, and she can't even enjoy a simple breakfast. Malik walks by with the remnants of the breakfast, and she vomits stomach acid up into the jar that she'll have to clean later. She remains hunched over the jar, even as Malik brings her water, and she sips it slowly after rinsing her mouth out. There's no way she can do her mission today.

Of course, it helps that violent storms come ripping through Jerusalem, putting off the funeral for an indefinite amount of time.

She lies in the pillows, running her fingers over her stomach and musing that she'll lose this weight, too. Still, she savors the weight while she has it. Malik comes out to fetch her, and she's busy watching the storm rage above the latticework. She's soaked to the bone, but she doesn't want to move. The rain feels good. She misses the odd look he gives her as she continues to stroke her belly, her eyes closed.

She misses dinner that night, but her stomach doesn't complain. She forgets to clean the jar, but when she's there again the next morning, it's surprisingly clean.

This continues for a week, and she's as sick as a dog. The storm has pushed the funeral back forever, it appears, and she revels in the time she can take off to get better.

With the vomiting comes the most disorienting feeling of dizziness. She thinks it's from dehydration, but she's not entirely sure. It certainly doesn't help her twisting stomach. After a week, she begins to get cravings, and surprisingly, Malik fetches the food for her. It's already there when she wants it, sitting on the counter, and Malik doesn't say anything when she dips her fingers into it as if he knew she would want it. It's Heaven when she sinks her teeth into a bite of meat and it doesn't come back up. Her stomach is still growing, despite the fact that she's been retching up every other meal into the jar.

When it continues into a second week at the bureau, Altaïr begins to get worried. She doesn't know what's wrong, but it's not going away. She's stayed out of Malik's way as much as she can, but this is just getting ridiculous.

"Malik," she says as she walks into the main area. "Malik, I need a doctor. I'm still not feeling well."

Malik looks at her, raising an eyebrow. Silence reigns for a few seconds, but she refuses to back down from her request. She needs something to help her get better. It is evening, and the doctors will be going home shortly. Finally, Malik sighs, irritated, and sets down his quill.

"Surely you have figured it out by now that no doctor will be able to cure you."

She frowns. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

She watches as Malik rolls his eyes and rubs his ink-stained fingers across his eyes. "Altaïr, you are, quite possibly, the most unobservant idiot I have ever seen."

She scowls. "Malik. I need a doctor."

"Altaïr, you are pregnant."

She blinks and doesn't believe him. There's no way she could be pregnant. No way at all. The only man she's slept with is Malik, and that was forever ago. Malik sighs and steps around the counter.

"Your morning sickness, your cravings, your weight gain, your… increased chest size—it is all a part of pregnancy. And I will assume that you do not have your monthly bleeding, given that you haven't keeled over in pain yet in my bureau as you normally do around this time."

Her scowl turns into a frown. Pregnant? Surely she's not pregnant. There's no way she could be pregnant. Even as Malik scowls at her, she doesn't think that she could be pregnant.

But then again…

She's seen the pregnant women in the village. She's heard horror stories about their pregnancies. She knows (sort of) what goes on, and it does sound frighteningly familiar to what she's going through, now that Malik has mentioned it. Perhaps there is some truth in what he said, her traitorous mind whispered. After all, her breasts would grow bigger to make milk for the child. She couldn't lose weight because something was growing inside her. She swallows, and her frown is turning into a look of abject horror as it slowly sinks in. She may be pregnant, and the baby would be Malik's. It would have to be. He's the only man she's slept with (and hot damn did it feel good). She knew she should have kept her legs closed, but she had been so eager for him, just once, just once so that she could move on. She can feel the blood drain from her face, and she has to crouch down so that she doesn't fall. She slides to an upright fetal position, perched on her feet with her arms around her legs. She has been experiencing the same symptoms the pregnant women in the village experience. And she has been gaining weight despite the fact that she hasn't been able to keep down a big meal.

"No…" she whispers.

Which would mean that the baby is Malik's—but there's no way he would want it. The fact that she got him in bed was a hard-worked plan she had been trying for months. She swallows again as she begins a tiny rock in her balled-up crouch.

She's pregnant.

And the baby is Malik's.

She looks when Malik looms over her, scowling, and she can't help but whimper. Was this her punishment for Solomon's Temple? Malik shakes his head, turning around and walking behind the counter.

"That's what you get for being a whore, Altaïr."

She lets out a dry sob, fisting her hands in her hair. "I—I can't—"

"If you sleep around, that's what's going to happen," Malik hisses.

Altaïr feels like crying. She looks up at him, and he's glaring at her.

"M-Malik—Malik…" she tries, rocking a little harder and trying to find the words. Then, with a despaired wail, she plants her face against her legs, holding her stomach.

"Malik, you're the only one I've slept with," she manages to say, her mind racing through a million different thoughts.

She has to get rid of it. There's no way she can keep it. Al Mualim won't like that she's pregnant. She supposes she could provoke Malik to a fist fight and take a hit or two to the stomach. Surely that would get rid of it. Of course, Malik might not want to, given how "nice" he's been the past two weeks. Maybe she could go get in a fight with some guards. Then she could work out, long and hard, and get rid of it. She can't keep the baby. She can't. She's not even married—and she refuses to have her child grown up without two parents in a good relationship. Everything should be better for her children than it was for her. Everything.

Her breathing is coming in quick little pants now, and she's short of breath, and hot damn that feeling of dizziness is back. She has to get rid of the baby. She has to. It's for the baby's own good. She has to. She can't bring a child into this world. She has to get rid of it. She has to.

She rises quickly, her mind still in overdrive, and begins to head toward the exit. She has to get rid of it quickly. Dizziness be damned—nausea be damned. She has to get rid of the child in her stomach. She has to act quickly, before it can grow another second, as if it might pop out of her at any given time. She's got to get rid of this child of hatred.

And then a hand clamps down around her wrist.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Malik snarls.

She whips her head around to look at him, sifting through her thoughts as she tries to process what he said. He should understand. He should. She hisses back at him, tugging at her wrist halfheartedly as she waits for the dizziness to disappear from the myriad of swirling thoughts in her head.

"I'm going to get rid of it, what else? I can't bring a child into this world."

"You can't just kill it, either."

"I'm an assassin. A life is a life, no matter what age. Let me go," she says with a snarl, tugging on her wrist again and feeling Malik tighten his hold.

"So you'll willingly murder an innocent child? Didn't you learn from the first time?" Malik hisses.

Altaïr hisses back. "I am not bringing a child into this world. End of story."

"Even if it's mine?"

"What does that matter?"

"Perhaps I wish to keep it!" Malik shouts, snarling.

Altaïr would punch him, should punch him, but she can't bring herself to. She's panicking, and she needs to get rid of this thing before it's too late. It could pop out at any moment. She has to get rid of it before it comes to life.

"That is a laughable matter," Altaïr spits, tugging at her wrist, knocking Malik off balance, and managing to get a few steps closer to the exit before she's stopped again. "It would remind you of me every time you looked at it. I will not let you hate an innocent child. It is my body. I am not even married. I will not bring a bastard child into this world to be scorned and hated."

She tugs again, harder, but Malik remains firm, expecting it. Even though her response is semi-logical, her answer seems to only anger the man more. Her pulse is still pounding, and she needs to go now and get rid of it. She has to, but Malik does not seem quite so keen on that.

"Then we shall get married!"

"And have a loveless marriage?" Altaïr shouts back as panic enters her thoughts at marrying Malik, her voice getting higher pitched as she nears hysteria. She can't handle this, not right now. "I think not! Let me go, Malik! I shall pay for my sins in Hell: just leave me be!"

Malik's eyes are burning with fury, and Altaïr grabs his arm with every intention to break it. She stumbles when she's yanked forward and Malik's strong arm wraps around her.

"And whoever said it would be loveless, Altaïr?"

The question is quiet, and it shuts Altaïr down like a grave injury. Of course it would be loveless. Malik has hated her ever since she was sent to Solomon's Temple (no matter the fact that she had been cramping even worse than normal and Al Mualim sent her there anyway). He hated her rightly, and she had hated Al Mualim for a while for ruining things between Malik and her. She can feel Malik along her back, all solid muscle. Of course would be loveless. She's hated herself ever since she was sent to Solomon's Temple (she should have struggled harder not to go, and Al Mualim should have realized his mistake). She hated herself rightly, and it was often fanned by the flames of hatred for her master. She can feel his arm around her, his hand resting on her belly and stroking it slowly. She could smell him, warm and perhaps slightly musky with the perfumes of incense clinging to him, surrounding her, breaking her down. It was enticing, inviting, like sin, and she wants to melt into his arm and never come back. It's calming her in an unexpected sort of way. Her mind isn't quite so panicked anymore, and even though she's still trembling, her pulse has calmed. She should be fighting him, but she's afraid to, for once, as if her traitorous body is keeping her from provoking a fight to get rid of the baby.

She swallows, and she's fighting the tears behind her eyelids. She had mastered her body, and that one moment with Malik between the sheets has ruined everything she has struggled to master.

"Altaïr, I know that most of your struggle has been alone, fighting to prove your worth to men, but you are not alone. You must understand this."

She's quiet, breathing in deep of the way the man behind her smells. She's trying not to cry, but it's getting increasingly difficult. This is why she was ridiculed as an assassin, because of her emotions, so she killed them, even happiness, but now there's a baby involved and suddenly everything seems to be happening at once. It's overwhelming, and she just can't handle this.

"Why else do you think it hurt so badly when Solomon's Temple happened? Why else do you think I was so upset when you slept with me?"

Her breathing turns ragged, and her eyes are stinging. She's losing the war against her own body. She needs to provoke a fight. She needs to get rid of the baby. But she can't. Her body seems paralyzed in Malik's hold, surrounded by the way he smells.

"It was Kadar who appeared to me in a dream, reminding me that you had been just about to start your monthly bleeding, that you couldn't be held accountable for your irritability and Al Mualim's idiocy at Solomon's Temple. He even laughed and said that he will forever remember when he told Robert that you were a woman and that you would beat him in due time, that his face was priceless."

She brings her hands up to wipe at her eyes. She swallows again, breathing in deep and trying to keep herself from crying. Fight, her mind whispers, fight. But her body isn't moving. The hand on her stomach feels nice. The body against her back is lulling her into believing that she might be able to spend forever with him. Her mind is weak and traitorous. She needs to get rid of this baby. She will never open her legs again.

"It hurt more, too, when you slept with me, and I believed that I was just another man. I believed I was just another faceless person you had slept with. That hurt more than you know. But now it makes sense, in hindsight, your awkwardness with undressing me, your fumbling knowledge of a man's body."

She surges forward, managing to break the man's hold as she stumbles out and falls into the pillows. Malik looks mildly surprised, but Altaïr snarls, despite the feeling of tears down her cheeks.

"Shut up, Malik," she spits. "Shut up! I don't want to hear it!" She looks away. "I'm getting rid of the baby regardless of whether you like it."

There's silence for a moment, and she draws her legs to her chest. Fight, her mind is telling her. She needs to get rid of this problem. She can't let Malik in. He would ruin her reputation as an assassin. This baby would.

"I—I can't—I can't do—"

She hears a sigh, then feels a hand brush against her hair. She can't stop the tears.

"There does not have to be an 'I,' Altaïr," she hears. "But you have to be willing to make the changes—or is your heart so set on getting rid of the child?"

She's quiet as she sniffles, the tears still leaking out. She had never considered having a child before she was ready.

"It would ruin the reputation I have struggled for so long to build," she mutters, still not looking up at him.

There is silence again, and she can't help but think. Now it not the time for a baby. Not as she prepares to kill Robert de Sable at the funeral. The funeral would not wait forever.

"And I cannot afford not to kill Robert at the funeral."

There's silence again. Malik, for once, seems to be at a loss for words. The hand on her head disappears, and she looks up after a little bit. The man is sitting there, looking as if his feathers have been ruffled. He's staring at her, frowning, and she looks away, sighing.

"Altaïr, I will not allowed him to get away."

"Not just that, Malik. After the pregnancy, I'll have to recover, and then breastfeed—"

"We can find a wet-nurse—"

"I don't want a wet-nurse."

"You cannot always have what you want, Altaïr."

"I can, and I will."

"You act like a spoiled child."

"I have earned the right to breastfeed my baby."

"Hardly," Malik scoffs.

"I have fought all my life to be viewed an equal to a man. If I have a child, it will be on my own terms, when I am ready to be a mother and not an assassin."

"Is there nothing that can make you change your mind?"

"Not now, with everything so close. My rank is within my sights, Malik. I cannot just give up everything I have worked for."

The man sighs. "What if the funeral is continued to be put off?"

"There is no way that the funeral will be put off for months. The body will have decomposed by then."

Malik sighs again, and then Altaïr's eyes flutter closed as she feels the man lean in and kiss each eye.

"Stop crying, you moron. You're wrecking your reputation by yourself."

She snorts, wiping her nose and eyes on her shirt. "Shut up."

Malik rises as she yawns. "Now come with me and let's get some sleep."

She glares and leans back into the pillows. "And what happens if I chose not to?"

"You're going to freeze the damn baby out of your belly."

She can feel a smile tug at her lips. All her hard work to school her emotions, and all of it is ruined now. She has a feeling this was just the start of problems far more serious than gaining her rank back. She rises slowly, and Malik snorts.

"You women," the man begins, casting a side glance that told her he was clearly trying to provoke her. "Always so fickle."

"You should be grateful I'm sleeping with you," she said, sticking her nose in the air and staring down it at him. "Most men would kill to get into my pants."

"Most men have killed to get into your pants, given that you are an assassin."

She rolls her eyes, giving him an unamused stare. "The last thing I need is to be reminded about how every man in the fortress stared at my chest when I stopped binding it."

"Most of them stared at your chest regardless of whether you bound it."

Altaïr snorts. "I'm not surprised, but at least they were more subtle about it."

"In such a sexually-restrained castle, such beautiful, bouncing breasts are a treat to see."

She trips him, snorting when he stumbles. "You are so full of bull shit, Malik."

"I speak the truth," he snarls, leading her to his bed.

He is already dressed for the night, Altaïr notices, and he lies down, making room for her. Is it really all that simple, she muses, removing her belts, armor, and outer robes. She's left standing her underclothes. Just a baby, and then the man she's craved for years is hers. Was it truly love he felt, she muses as she stares at him. He meets her gaze. There is no sympathy in his eyes, no pity. It's the same look he gave her before her downfall, when it was just the two of them resting. It's the one she always took as a challenge.

She fancies she sees just the tiniest bit of remorse buried beneath what some might consider love. But even that is quickly masked by the expectant, unyielding look she's used to.


	2. Chapter 2

A baby, and her world is changing.

It's frightening, she thinks as she plays with the hems of her shirt, in a way she has never felt before. She felt no fear taking her leap. She felt no fear in her first mistake or her first assassination. She's never felt fear before, she muses, not like this.

But their previous conversation has made her acutely aware of her breasts, how they have changed, how they have grown to a noticeable size. Before, she could bind them easily, she thinks as she pulls off her shirt slowly. Now, she doesn't think she could and get away as a feminine man. Her breasts are still sore, perhaps from the rapid growth they've been undergoing, but the look that Malik gives her sends a shiver down her spine. She's acutely aware that his eyes stop on her chest, taking in the new size. She's lucky, even now, that they're not super big, not like some of those poor women she's seen.

"You sleep naked when in a private room?" Malik murmurs, gesturing her over.

She compelled to follow the gesture, dropping her shirt on the ground as she pads over silently and sits on his waist. She feels his legs come up behind her to give her something to lean again. Her heart is fluttering in her chest, and she feels nervous for the first time in her life. She feels as if she's signing over her life, giving up some secret part of her that she had never considered before, letting Malik stare so openly at her, knowing she was carrying his child.

"Understandably, my clothes have felt tighter as of late," she quips, leaning back as that single hand reaches to stroke the skin just above her pant line.

"I suppose so," Malik says off-handedly, "although that is probably because of all the food you have eaten, you gluttonous—"

She snorts, shoving her foot in his face and leaving him to push it out of the way and growl. The silence settles again, leaving her staring at him. Her heartbeat is quickening again, just mildly, and her stomach is clenching as he runs a finger across her stomach.

"I never thought I would see the Great Eagle of Masyaf like this," Malik murmurs, "as scared as a new fledgling."

Altaïr frowns.

"You can look death in eyes and not bat an eyelash, but the prospect of birth makes you quiver?"

She snorts, looking away and seeing him prop himself up on his arm. "I fear nothing."

She hears him hum as his legs lower and he sits up, causing her to slide back onto his thighs.

"Of course," he murmurs as he leans in, and she frowns. "Even though you are quivering like a newborn foal."

She doesn't fight him when he kisses her, his arm coming run a knuckle up her spine. She gasps, still not familiar with the sensations, and feels him nip at her chin, pressing soft kisses along her jawline. Altaïr pants quietly as his hand comes around to touch her breast. He fondles her slowly, gently, as if afraid he would put too much pressure on it. He brushes a thumb over her nipple, and she can't restrain the moan that escapes her lips.

And then she feels it creep down her spine. It is slow, a crawl. It is like a cold finger snaking down her spine and settling in her stomach.

"Malik," she whispers, the fear of everything going on beginning to strangle her.

She is in bed with the man she had wanted for most of her life. In her stomach grows a child, the very thing that is bringing the man back into her life. Her career, the thing she fought so hard for, is going to be ground to a halt, and if Al Mualim find out, she's screwed. She feels the fear and dread settling in her stomach, and Malik's arm around her waist as he studies her offers little comfort.

"Malik," she squeaks, looking at him.

Perhaps once she'll let these emotions show. She's got to get everything on straight. She's got to figure herself out. She doesn't think that she'll get rid of the baby, but as Malik frowns and pulls her down to his side, she realizes that she has a long way to go to figure this out.

It takes her a week to come to grips with the idea of a child, inside her, growing. She can swear she feels it, inside her, like a weight, as she plows through a bag of dates. She's nervous and jumpy, and Malik has been walking on eggshells around her. She can't help it. There's a creature inside her, growing, getting bigger—a living creature that is taking the nutrients from her body and feeding off her. Thankfully, she briefly thinks about the fact that no other assassins have come tromping through.

Especially because she's taken to sitting in the bureau without a shirt on, trying to relax as she thinks about how exposed to everything she is—how exposed to Malik she is. And that's probably was scares her most—this feeling of absolute reliance that seems to be threatening to come in, this feeling of intimacy that she's never experienced, not even when she lost her virginity, that seems to be creeping in and trying to strangle her. Still, she's never backed down from a challenge, and sitting here, without her shirt, letting Malik see her, watch her, observe her, is part of her answer to this frightening intimacy that she's trying to become accustomed to. She wants Malik, with all her heart and soul, but she didn't think that it would be so frightening. She always assumed that if she had a relationship with the man, it would be like her first time, rough and full of hissed banter, bites, and claws. With this child in the mix, he seems completely different. He is cautious, gentle. He seems to know what she needs, about her mental war going on.

For a week, she says nothing, sweating and shaking as she slowly realizes that perhaps the child was, indeed, an act of Allah. She eats and eats, and eventually pukes some of it back up. Malik watches her with worried eyes, and she can't shake the feeling of fear that there's something inside her, that will rip her open, that will bring more pain than she's ever experienced, and that all of her life is balancing now in the threads of whether she chooses to keep this child or not.

"Altaïr?" Malik asks one night as he comes over with dinner for them.

She looks up at him, still mildly horrified. Her belly is still growing, and her career is going to end once she misses the funeral. Her breasts are still too sensitive. She swears the child is going to pop out of her at any moment. It's going to hurt. She's never feared pain up until this moment. She's a mess, and the world as she knows it is ending.

"Altaïr, you need to relax," the man says, offering her the food.

"I—"

"I have arranged for a quick marriage, if that will help ease your mind, at the mosque."

She blinks, staring at him wide-eyed. The man has a serious look, not the look she remembers from the castle.

"You need to calm down, Altaïr, or else you will give birth to a stillborn. If you're going to carry the child through anyway, you should relax, give it a fighting chance. You are not alone. My men keep this bureau safe, and they will keep you safe."

"Your men?"

Malik nods. "Friends that I have made, guards. Have you ever wondered why no guard is ever posted here?"

Altaïr inhales deeply, trying, valiantly, to get her mind to shut down. The man senses this, it seems, rises, and walks over to where she is, sitting behind her. She jerks, at first to get away, but then his arm is around her stomach, and she can catch a whiff of his scent, and she swallows, leaning back tentatively. She's not used to this. She's not used to gentle touches and cautious intimacy. She's not used to this foreign relationship. She's used to hostility. She's used to fighting.

"I'm not asking you to be domesticated like a housewife. I am simply asking you to let me take care of you for the sake of the child."

She inhales shakily, finding comfort in the way Malik smells. She swallows again, feeling her mind slowly empty. He knows what to say. Sweet Allah does that man have a silver tongue. His hand travels up, underneath her breasts and rests there, unmoving. She's acutely aware of his hand, his calluses, and his nails. She can feel it moving as she breathes deeply, calming herself, moving with her chest, her breasts rubbing against it.

And then her heart starts pounding again. Malik is sitting there, touching her gently, moving with her breathing, and she's letting him, sitting here. She feels more naked than when she bathes, as if her soul is up for examination, as if she's going to be found out, as if she's going to be rebuked from the order. As if the other assassins were right, and she is a failure, and this is all coming to light now, as if every moment of her life was all just a game to humiliate her more—

"Altaïr. Calm. Down."

She feels his breath along her ear, and she swallows, absolutely terrified of this intimacy with which Malik seems so at home in. Of course, he has nothing to lose anymore. She still has everything.

"You novice," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her neck.

She opens her mouth to snap back, but his fingers slide from under her breast and around, cupping one in his hand and making her inhale deeply.

"You've had to work so hard to prove your worth to the men that you've forgotten the very thing that makes you human—you've forgotten the very thing that makes you a woman, that offsets the flaws of a man."

Her mouth falls open as his thumb and forefinger roll her nipple gently between them with feather-light caresses.

"And… and just what is that?" she says on an exhale.

He continues to fondle her, chuckling quietly at the soft moan he earns as her eyes flutter shut.

"Your emotions, Altaïr. Without them, you are dead, a stranger in a strange land."

She hums quietly, arching into his touch when he runs his thumb over her nipple. He's stroking it slowly, kissing her shoulder near the base of her neck and kissing a line down to her upper arm. She can feel every inch of him along her back, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Part of her wants this, but she can feel her logical side demanding a fight. She can't succumb to this. She has to fight. A man's arms (or arm) is not where she's supposed to be. She's not supposed to want to relax into his hold and just let him surround her. She's supposed to fight. She's supposed to be an independent assassin, strong and revered by all. Not—not a woman. She gave that up a long time ago.

"You are not alone in this battle, Altaïr. Remember this."

She feels his hand release her breast as her thoughts get distracted and travel back down her side slowly, over her ribs, over her stomach, to rest on her inner thigh, rubbing gently. With a shaky breath, she opens her eyes, staring at the far wall.

"And in a few days' time, we will go to the mosque to be united in marriage, as you have said that you wanted. You will remain here until after the birth, after you feel comfortable with the baby and yourself."

She swallows, placing a hand on her belly. "And you?"

"I will be here, in front of you, to protect you from the order and Al Mualim. If the funeral happens, I will have my men capture Robert. The assassins will not tell. As it is, they will be amazed that you are, in fact, capable of having children."

"Amazed?" she says, unable to hide the malice. "Try amused or entertained that a woman such as myself has succumbed to earthly pleasures, that I was weak enough to—"

"You underestimate the novices which pass through here. They have all been amazed at your prowess, and I'm sure they will be fearful of any child you bring into this world. Perhaps the older assassins may smirk, but they have seen your deeds, and they know your power. They would be foolish to think you are weak simply because you are carrying a child, when I know for a fact that they have experienced more humiliating positions with their brothers in the bedroom."

She can feel a smirk creeping across her lips. Malik is smirking as well, undoubtedly recounting the memories he had seen. She places her hand over Malik's and looks at him. The man meets her gaze with an amused look.

"Feeling slightly better now?"

She snorts. "I never had a problem."

"Yes," is what she wants to say, but she's already sacrificed enough of herself. She can afford to be a little arrogant. Her fear is leaving, as if she needed to hear those words, to know that she won't be alone and that Malik will not desert her—that the assassins will not ridicule her. That illogical part of her brain is clinging to those words, letting them sink in and ease away her panic. She knows they're not true, or, at least, she thinks they're not true, but she is in a good man's presence, and he is, truly, the only one that she would consider trusting her life with.

"Your arrogance is astounding," he murmurs.

"So you have said many times."

"Your posturing will never last." He kisses her shoulder. "It will be hard knowing I cannot smack you around if you get out of hand."

Altaïr smirks but cannot think of something to say as she picks up the plate and starts eating. And although she won't admit it to herself, leaning against Malik, feeding him every other bite from the plate, is a pleasure she thinks she's been missing out on for too long. She closes her eyes once they're done, feeling herself move as the man breathes in and out in a steady pattern, feeling his heartbeat against her back. Perhaps, she muses as she rests her cheek against his chest, she can let herself go for just tonight. Just tonight, and then she'll fight tomorrow. After all this stress, she deserves a break. Things will look better in the morning.

When she wakes up, all she can smell is Malik, and she feels so relaxed and mellowed out from her past few days living in a panic attack. She can panic later, after they're up and about. She has one arm across his chest, the other tucked between them as she listens to his heartbeat. She doesn't feel nauseated for once, and she's just shy of uncomfortable, too acutely aware that there's a baby in her stomach, but she feels better. Much better, she notes, like a long time ago, when she cried into Malik's shoulder shortly after joining the order. It was the first and only time she cried, but she felt so good when she woke up. She hums, adjusting herself slightly and yawning, her eyes slipping closed again.

When she wakes up again, Malik is gone. She can hear him in the bureau, pacing around, and she sits up, yawning and stretching. Right, she tells herself, she can do this. This is a new page for her. She's going to put her panic to the side until she hears about the funeral, and she's going to enjoy the pregnancy. She rises, not bothering to put on a shirt again, feeling slightly more comfortable in her own skin, as if last night was the final thing she needed to get her confidence back that she could do this. That intimacy she felt wasn't going to scare her any longer. She is going to overcome her fears, and now that everything seems to have been straightened out in her mind, she can do this. She needed last night.

She pushes back the curtains as she steps into the main room, running a hand through her hair.

"Malik—"

She freezes, wide-eyed, as three novices look over. All three of them blush at the sight of her naked from the waist-up, unable to help their eyes as they trail over her chest and stop at her stomach. Their eyes grow wide as they see the tell-tale lump, then their eyes snap back up, perhaps maybe not quite to her face. She frowns, lowering her arm as she looks at Malik, who seems almost appalled.

"Thanks for the warning," she growls as she turns around and walks back.

It takes her a bit to find a shirt, having to take one of Malik's. It's nice and loose, his bigger build letting it bag. She likes it. She'll probably wear it more as the pregnancy progresses. And, it smells like him. Smell has always been important to her.

Still, as she walks back out in her pants and Malik's shirt, she sees the man shaking his head slowly, an amused look on his face as he looks at her. The novices are still blushing, and they apologize profusely. Altaïr can't blame them. They're novices, boys, youths that still have the final little bit of baby-fat clinging to their cheeks. They're not hardened and shaped for war yet. A woman's body is still something new to them probably, perhaps even they are still embarrassed at the fact that they touch themselves and jerk off. She pats their shoulders as she passes them, sitting near the game board and looking at Malik.

Malik finishes instructing them and tells them to rest. She watches the three young men as they fumble about, still not sure how to conduct themselves after seeing her partly naked. She adjusts herself on the pillow, leaning back. She challenges one of the novices to a game, and the poor thing stutters but accepts. It's not like she's trying to hide the fact that her chest is unbound or her stomach is rounding, and the baggy shirt seems to enjoy settling around her just so to show it off. She can feel their eyes wandering, and she can't help but smirk. They hold no blame. They are still fresh-faced youths who have yet to lose their ring fingers.

For her, sex has never been a big distraction. Of course, she's worked her ass off to ensure that no one had rights to ridicule her. These boys have nothing to prove. They are male, so they are equals. She had to bury herself in her training to prove herself. That one night with Malik was the first time she had ever felt such a need. It is the difference between them, she supposes, the men and women, and she won't blame them. She's not hiding her breasts as most women would do, binding them back and covering herself completely. She is not most women. She is an assassin.

And the boys who try to cover up the fact that they're staring are just boys. They have not slept with a woman yet, and marriage is a dream farther off than losing their finger. A brothel is a closer dream, but she is willing to bet they have not visited one before. She can feel their eyes linger on her chest, then inch down to her stomach as if they're interested about the bump. She cannot panic now, she thinks as she sets up the board, calming herself as her heartbeat picks up. The novices are a curious lot, and most of them don't have contact with women for most of their lives outside of ogling at the women in the gardens. If they're passing judgments, they are silent at least. She does not care, she reminds herself. She has chosen to keep the baby, and there is no man who will be able to change her mind.

Halfway through the game, the novice she's playing peeks at her stomach again and opens his mouth.

"Are… What…"

Another pipes in: "Master Altaïr, are you pregnant?"

She snorts as it comes out in more of a squeak than anything. The last word sounds like a child saying a bad word for the first time, even though he knows he shouldn't. She was long ridiculed as a disgrace of a woman, still is, and yet, this tender curiosity of the boys is refreshing. The boys refuse to meet her gaze as she makes her move, humming quietly, amused even though she doesn't let it show.

"If I am, would it change your view of me?"

The boys stiffen as if caught off-guard, and she waits patiently, making her move carefully. She could end the game right now, but she thinks that she'll let it drag on a little longer. The three are sitting, huddled close, and she briefly compares them to frightening fledglings. She cannot blame them if they are frightened. It was a foolhardy move she had made, but she wasn't going to regret her decision.

"Wh-who's i-is it?" the same one whispers.

"It is mine," Malik says, and she looks after placing her piece.

The man is working on a map, no doubt detailing it, and she can hear one of the boys swallow. The noise of the streets outside fills the otherwise silent bureau as Malik returns to his art.

Finally, one of them leans over to the boy playing her and whispers in his ear, "I'm afraid of the baby already if she is truly pregnant."

The other novice nods with quick, tight nods. There's something amusing in the fact that the novices are afraid of an unborn child. The child of her and Malik is to be feared indeed, but left unchecked, these novices might start wild rumors. She can begin to image what they would be, having willingly joined gossip groups with the women in the Masyaf village before. There could be rumors as wild as it comes out with a hidden blade, or it ripped open her womb on its own. As entertaining as those would be, it would quickly spiral out of control.

"A-aren't you worried?" the third asks, the same one who asked the other two questions.

"About what? It being a stillborn? No, I am taking a break. Beside, my mission has been put off indefinitely as the city rebuilds."

The third shakes his head, looking up at her. There's an almost foreign quality to his face, yet entirely too familiar. The innocence that hangs around him reminds her of Kadar, her brain mentions. And she tenses momentarily: Kadar. He seems genuinely curious, as if the blinders of society haven't yet harnessed him, as if he's not judging her as a woman but a companion.

"No, about what the others will say. That you've gotten pregnant, that you're a woman. You are already hated because you are better than most men, and they look for a reason to spit at you."

She rests her hand in her chin, staring at the boy. Yes, she thinks, Kadar. She snorts and offers him a smirk. She can feel Malik's eyes on her, waiting for her answer.

"No. I do not care. If I did, I would not be a master assassin but a housewife. This child will not keep me from my tasks as an assassin. Allah would not have given it to me if I were not capable of handling it—he will watch over me as he has always done with the order. Despite my demotion, I am a master assassin. I make the impossible possible—as you will one day do."

"You think so?" the boy asks, perking up his seat, and she bites her lip to hide a chuckle.

She looks at him and then pauses. The look is hopeful, begging. It's not something she was used to seeing on Kadar. This is a look of low-self esteem. This is a look of a boy who has been torn down, and she knows well that an ego can be half the battle in getting ahead of the others. It is a delicate balance between being prideful or simply confident.

"Of course I do. If I can become a master assassin, I have full faith that you can become one as well with enough work and persistence."

The boy's eyes light up, as if she had just revealed the word of Allah, as if she had just spoken some great truth. She yawns, feeling an urge to eat some nuts, and watches the boy make his move. She can almost taste the nuts in her mouth, and she licks her lips, still hungry. She hopes that she will not vomit.

"Of course, you must have faith in yourself. You cannot let what others say stop you from succeeding."

"However," Malik says, setting a bowl of nuts down in front of her, and she blinks, looking up at him. He, however, is looking at the boy. "You cannot let your pride get the better of you."

"Or else you will end up like me," she mutters, reaching into the bowl of already shelled nuts.

Malik returns to his work, and she contemplates her next move. As she chews, her mind wanders to how magic the man must be to know what she wants when she wants it. Nevertheless, her mind immediately returns to the game. It has been far too long since she has exercised her mind and not her body.

"So… are you pregnant?"

She looks at the novice again, whose eyes are shining with curiosity. With a sigh, she nods.

"I am."

All three of the boys look at her, surprised. She half expects them to ask to touch.

"Really?" the novice playing whispers.

She moves her piece, nodding disinterestedly. There's an awed silence for a moment before she hears Malik start laughing. She blinks, then looks over, and Malik has his head thrown back, a fully belly laugh as he sets his quill down. She furrows her brows, and the novices look upset, as if they have just been led on. Eventually, the man calms down and picks up his quill, pointing the feathered end at them, and almost evil look on his face.

"You should let them watch you give birth, Altaïr. Such things alone will turn a boy into a man and a novice into an assassin."

Altaïr quirks an eyebrow. She doesn't know too much about birthing other than the pain, but she can imagine it would be quite a sight.

"The whole order should have to watch a birth!" the man says with a snort, turning around to pull a book off the shelf. "Every last one of them. That would be more terrifying than a Leap of Faith. If a man manages not to throw up or flinch at a birth, he is ready to be called a man."

She adjusts herself in her seat as Malik sets the book down and starts flipping through the pages. "I take it you have seen a birth before?"

"No, but I already have a midwife ready, and she has told me of the horrors of birth that you will not notice, Altaïr, but the rest of us will experience."

"So you laugh."

"So I do. It would do them well. If they don't pass out from watching the birth, they are truly brave, and their stomachs, steel."

"What of yourself?"

"I heard enough I know well what is coming. Do not be alarmed, Altaïr. I will be beside you the whole time—provided you do not try to rip my last arm off."

"T-that would be improper! A sin to watch her!" the chatty novice exclaims.

Malik snorts, going back to scratching on the paper as he glances at the book. "Everything we do is a sin—the murder, the torture, the mindless killing of the guards on our tails. This would help you prevent sin further down the line in your lives when it comes to a woman. Besides, you have already seen her chest, you may as well see what happens if you fool around with a woman and get her pregnant."

The boys are bright red, and Altaïr frowns.

"And what if I am not comfortable with them watching?"

Malik snorts. "That is a different matter, but you are not hard to read, Altaïr. When the time comes for the birth, the thought of them watching will be far from your mind—which will probably be more focused on killing me for getting you pregnant."

She snorts but pops another handful of nuts into her mouth.

"It would be shameful!" the novice says.

"Shameful?" Malik asks, shaking his head. "Shameful in what way? Already, she has given up her womanhood to join this order—what difference would something like this make? If she is going to allow herself to be a disgrace to women, she may as well go all the way. Besides, there is no way in Allah's great plans you will be watching lustfully." Silence reigns for a moment, and then Malik continues. "But, you must realize you cannot tell Al Mualim for sake of the child when you go back."

The three nod, and Altaïr sighs as her hand hits the bottom of the bowl. She is still hungry. The game passes in relative silence after that, and with a grunt, she sends one of them out to fetch food for her. She can't go out, not dressed like this, but she doesn't want to put on her assassins gear for fear of crushing the baby. She has no women's clothing, and her breasts and stomach are too noticeable for regular clothing. She can no longer pass as a man. If she wishes to go out, she'll have to obtain women's clothes.

Malik, however, is three steps ahead of her. He already has a tailor working, measurements from her gear providing the necessary details. In a few days, she finds herself donning the tailored women's clothing, covering her head and all, ducking out into the streets with Malik beside her just in case. She keeps her head bowed as they make their way to the mosque. It's a quiet marriage, the blessings and rituals sailing right over her head as she listens in wonder before she signs the contract. The whole thing takes less than thirty minutes. The religious leader looks confused as he ushers her back out afterward, without the slightest trace of the customary feast, but nevertheless, gives them his blessing. She hates this clothing. She much prefers her hooded eyes to the covered mouth and nose. And the looks from the men as she sticks close to her man puts that fire in her eyes again.

They startle when she fixes her eyes on them, hatred and fire burning in her golden eyes. They have no place to judge her for her spirit simply because they live in such a fucked up society. They frown and turn away when they see her glare. It's still powerful, still frightening. No one can take her, and if given the chance, she will jump on the idea of a fight to prove them wrong.

Of course, there is the baby to think about. Her arms wrap lightly around the noticeable lump in her belly. Would she really be able to take on someone without injuring the child, she wonders, or would she be unable to get away? Her heartbeat picks up again, and she can feel the smooth edge of the baby bump beneath her hands. If they injure the baby, will her body reject the child and force it out? She wants to keep it: she likes the idea. She wants a family, a child, children. It would certainly give her something to look forward to in coming home, soothe over the rising tensions between her and Al Mualim. Yet, the treacherous, dark part of her mind, the same part that's gotten her so far in the order, tells her it's not too late, and that she can still get rid of the child and that no one would blame her. She can't though. She likes the idea of having a baby to return home to. She likes the idea of knowing that Malik will be there (he always was, even when she first joined), and she likes the idea that the baby is theirs. She couldn't risk it all on the toss of a coin. She couldn't get into a fight.

Of course, months without a workout would make her weak.

But it can't be too hard to recover.

It would, however, with a new baby, be quite a problem.

But Malik could take care of it while she works out.

He has one arm. He can't do everything. The child might need to picked up and put down. He couldn't do that with one hand. She had seen how fragile new babies were.

She blinks when Malik pulls her down an alleyway and presses her to sit on a bench. Guards must be after them.

"Altaïr," he says, crouching in front of her, and she's glad that they're in the alley. "You need to calm down."

She blinks. There are no guards. He stopped her to calm her down.

"I swear: your panic is so loud our baby will be deaf before it is born."

She blinks again, staring at him. She didn't realize she had been panicking, or perhaps that doubt she was dealing with was coming across as panicking. She feels exposed with her eyes uncovered, which is ridiculous given that the rest of her skin is stuffed beneath an infernal outfit. She doesn't like the feeling, this vulnerability. This was probably also along the lines of that same damn intimacy fear she was having, which also wasn't good. She never would have guessed that having a child would introduce such a different world. Malik sighs, setting a hand on her knee.

"Altaïr, quiet your mind."

The command is quiet, almost a murmur. Her ears hone in on it regardless of whether she wants to. There's the commanding, "Don't-Fucking-Ignore-Me" tone that she's accustomed to. But it seems gentler, kinder, as if he's afraid saying the wrong thing will irritate her. The command rings on the inside of her ears, and she hears it again and again before it settles into her brain. The people beside her are watching, and she exhales quietly. She can feel their eyes on them. She tries not to think about them as she swallows, staring into Malik's eyes.

"Relax. You are safe."

She is safe. She needs to remember this.

"I will protect you. My men will protect you. You must trust me."

She swallows, trying, for all the world, to stifle her doubts. Still, she cannot afford to grow weak. Malik cannot understand this. She cannot let her muscles grow soft.

"What is it you want to say?"

She glances around. She doesn't want to talk when others are watching. Not here. Not now. Not in public.

"Do not pay attention to anyone else. What is it you are struggling with?"

She looks down.

"I will lose my strength," she whispers.

"That is all? Altaïr, you fuss over nothing. I will put you through hell and back to catch you back up to speed. You know me."

She can't help the smile that starts to creep across her lips. Malik snorts and rises, holding out his hand.

"There you go. You're not too hard to read."

"Many other men have failed," she mutters as she takes his hand and rises.

"Many other men have not been your shoulder to cry on, your tissue, your medic, your voice of reason, your henchman, and your best friend and worst enemy for over fifteen years."

He pulls her up, and they slip through the back alleys, avoiding the crazies and the drunkards, and she feels slightly more relaxed. The man does know her. The man knows her well, and Malik is probably the only one who would ever know her well. She can trust him. She can trust him. Even with just one arm, he is still easily the strongest man Altaïr knows. It is going to be a hard battle to let herself be protected by someone else when all her life she has fought alone, however.


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, Malik had been there, every step of the way. When she had first met him, she had been alone, crying, after she had a meltdown at being teased and spit on. Malik had come over with his little brother, and she had snarled at them, tried to make them go away, but Malik had just sat down, offered her a sleeve to wipe her nose on, and then let her bawl against his neck until they had to go to bed. Kadar had followed her and Malik to her room, since boys and girls had to be separated, but the brothers were kind enough to walk her to her room, and when Malik bid her goodnight, telling her to stop making a novice mistake by crying in the open and not alone with him, Kadar had stayed behind. The toddler had curled up beside her and fallen asleep with his thumb in his mouth. She had woken the next day with a new sense of meaning and drive.

She realizes as she steps back into the bureau that she's holding Malik's hand.

Somehow, she's okay with it.

She stays by him after stripping from the ridiculous outfit, hopping onto the counter to sit there in pants and a shirt. Around him, it seems easier to block out her thoughts. He seems to know exactly what's running through her head. He knows, somehow, when she's panicking, when she's hungry, or even when she will need something she hasn't thought of. She blinks when she gets a big whiff of Malik, and then she realizes he's right in front of her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She can feel a smile twist her lips, and she kisses back. This is it: she's married. She's pregnant. She'll have a family for once in her life. She's starting a new chapter in her life.

Surprisingly, as Malik presses kisses down her jaw, the prospect of having a family makes her calmer. She wraps her arms around Malik's neck as he kisses her again, and she realizes that she isn't panicking. At least, she isn't yet. He bumps their foreheads together, and she meets his gaze, keeping her breathing steady.

"There. Now stop thinking and relax."

She can feel herself smile reflexively as she rests her head on his shoulder and his arm goes around her waist. There's silence, and she concentrates on her breathing and the way Malik smells. She focuses on the feel of his robes beneath her cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching her head. She wants to cry. She wants to cry and scream at Malik. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't. Yet, somehow, all those years of instinctively relying on her first instinct haven't gone away. Even though her mind is screaming for her to stop… cuddling… and pull away, she feels paralyzed in his arms. She can't. Her instincts said to cuddle, and her body listens. Her body and mind are no longer in sync.

"You're thinking, Altaïr," she hears, and she can't help but grin, feeling entirely out of character but unable to help herself, and she fists her hands in Malik's robes as she feels his fingers dip below her pant line and rub back and forth.

"Stop thinking."

She hums, thinking about the quick marriage, and, yes, she's married. It doesn't seem real, but then she realizes she's thinking again, so she's just going to yawn and close her eyes, concentrating on Malik as he holds her. She inhales deeply, tensing when she hears the novices come in and pause.

"What do you need, novices?"

They say nothing, and Malik is rubbing her back. It helps with her tenseness, at being observed in such a vulnerable state.

"Relax, novice," she hears murmured against her ear.

"I'm trying," she snaps. "I'm not used to this whole 'emotion' thing, so shut up and deal with it."

Malik snorts, pulling back just enough to smirk at her glare. "You are _such_ a woman."

She blinks, then frowns at him. "There aren't any words to describe the stupidity of that statement."

Malik shakes his head, and she rests her forehead against him again. When Malik finally pulls back, she adjusts on the counter to lean against the wall and thinks idly about Masyaf castle for a moment before her thoughts trail back to her stomach. Her hands rest on her belly. She has a baby, a little assassin-bred baby. She closes her eyes. She has a baby on the way, a boy or a girl she doesn't know, but she has a baby. And perhaps this is only encouraging the sexist view, but she feels satisfied in a way she never felt before. Her opponents will laugh and spit at her, but ultimately, she will be the one with the last laugh. When their bloodlines die out, on purpose or on accident, her bloodline will continue, and she'll be able to watch it. It will grow. She will teach it to fight. She will teach it to read. She will cuddle it and play with it, and there's nothing in her way. She can hear others talking in the background, and she smiles. Eventually, her room will be filled with baby's laughter. It will be hard with the newborn to get a full night's sleep, but there have been worse nights on the road.

Her entire assassin's life has been training her for this one moment, it seems.

She's waken as she grabs someone's wrist, glaring at whoever it is. She blinks, realizing it's the chatty novice, and lets his wrist go. She had felt his fingers on her stomach. Her instincts were still good. The boy's eyes are wide, and he looks about ready to piss his pants, but she rolls her eyes.

"What were you doing?"

"I-I-I wanted to touch your stomach."

She hums. "Touch a woman's stomach?"

The chatty novice sticks his tongue out. "You are hardly a woman, according to Malik."

"So you believe the devil's lies? I am more of a woman than he can ever hope to obtain."

The novice laughs, and she can't help the smile at the boy's laughter. She lifts up the hem of her shirt, revealing the smooth bulge beneath her clothes. It can't hurt. Malik is right: she is hardly a woman according to society, so why not let herself serve as an example to the boys with misguided views about women?

The boy looks surprised, but his fingers are tentatively touching her stomach. She keeps her breathing even, feeling something akin to the prick of shame or touch of fear tickling along her cheeks and spreading to her neck. His fingers are callused, but not as callused as hers. She can feel the semi-rough texture on her belly, tracing over the hairs as if amazed.

"Have you never seen a pregnant woman?"

The novice blushes furiously, and it makes her own embarrassment go away.

"I have! I've just…" he seems to shrink down. "I've never seen one like this. Is… Is there really a baby growing in… in… your stomach?"

She watches him, nodding. "There is."

She feels the hand trailing over her stomach, and something inside her stirs hungrily. She envisions Malik's hand on her stomach, and she swallows as she feels a slow heat start up. The novice is smiling softly. She tries not to think about Malik, because that only causes that heat to get worse, pooling in between her legs and making her want him even more. Finally, the novice stops touching her and thanks her, hopping off to bed. She's off the counter and getting ready to jump the man before she knows what she's doing. Malik is in the middle of taking off his outer robe, and she's pressing up against him and kissing him before she can register it.

It's a wonderful feeling, she thinks, as her husband's lips move against her. She can feel his tongue tracing the bottom of her lip, lingering on the scar. It's intoxicating, and her hands find their way to her husband's pants. Her mind is getting fuzzy with lust, and she briefly wonders if this is normal, but Malik is already slipping his tongue into her mouth. Her hands are working on getting his pants off, too eager to get into his pants to worry about the shirt. The man has slipped a hand under hers—

And all she can do is gasp as he fondles her breast, her hands faltering and him shushing her as he cups it before rolling her nipple between his fingers. It didn't feel this nice last time. She heaves for breath, resting her head on his shoulder as he continues, and she tries to keep herself composed, which is hard given how much she wants him. Her breasts are so sensitive.

"Take off your shirt, Altaïr."

She swallows as his hand trails under her breast and down the center of her stomach, rubbing back and forth gently. She's panting at the feeling, and briefly, her mind wanders to the baby. She can't help but wonder if the baby could feel that. She wondered if the baby was the one making her feel like this, so familiar to her first time, and yet nothing like it at all. She was too sensitive. Was it because the baby wanted to feel it too?

"Altaïr. Your shirt."

She pulls back slowly, the sudden urge to jump him passing into this deep seeded warmth in her stomach and spreading up her neck. Slowly, she pulls off her shirt, shivering as she feels Malik's eyes on her. His hand doesn't leave her stomach, trailing slightly lower to pull the string on her pants. As he pushes her pants down, she presses against him for another kiss. His tongue is heavy and warm in her mouth, tracing over the back of her teeth and tickling the roof of her mouth.

Can the baby feel this? Can the baby feel the lust spreading throughout her or the need growing in between her legs? If the baby can, how does it feel it? She can feel Malik moving her down to the bed. She wonders if the baby is enjoying it. She certainly is, as she feels more than sees, Malik moving above her. He doesn't break the lip-lock, his tongue moving against hers and making her want so much more. What is the baby feeling? If it could feel the heat pooling in her stomach, is it too warm? She isn't making the baby uncomfortable, is she? Surely the baby isn't too uncomfortable, or else it would have made itself known again with nausea or overwhelming dizziness. The baby had a way of making itself known. The man nips at her lower lip, right on the scar, and she can't help the moan that escapes her, moving her arms to touch him.

But she can't.

Her eyes fly open, and she tilts her head up to find her arms bound above her head. Her fuzzy mind can't exactly identify with what, because Malik is nipping at her chin and kissing his way down to her ear.

"Now, lift your head up."

She narrows her eyes. "Why? Malik, untie me."

"I will in a bit. For now, lift your head up."

Scowling, she does, and before she can register it, Malik has her head in his arm and is tying a blindfold over her eyes. She snarls, trying to thrash her head, but she can't, and she can't squirm and kick because of the baby, and she doesn't know what will hurt it. She can't risk injuring the baby, but Malik is too damn strong and quick for having only one arm. When he moves back, she grunts, letting her head fall back. She's quiet, frowning.

"Now," Malik says, and his voice is low and sultry. She's not going to respond. "Tell me what it is that worries you."

"That is none of your business," she spits, even though Malik is sitting between her legs, and she's stark naked. The thought makes her want to shiver, but she tries to hold it back.

She jerks when she feels a hand on her upper thigh. She swallows. She can feel his hand there as his thumb moves back and forth. It feels rough against her skin, even though her thighs have calluses from horseback riding, and it makes her warm again, starting in her groin and sending that shiver up her spine regardless.

"That is all of my business," Malik murmurs, rubbing his hand against her thigh. She groans softly, all her attention right there as the lazy lust curls back through her. "You are my wife. My flesh and blood now. The mother of my baby. Let me inside your head, Altaïr."

She's silent. He does have a point, but to just demand such things of her isn't going to fly. She won't let him in. They are her thoughts. That hand on her thigh inches closer to her folds, his thumb stroking just shy of where she really wants it.

"Let me in, Altaïr. It is clear you are having many problems reconciling the idea of a child in you with your mind." She whimpers when his thumb strokes the lips of her vagina, bucking her hips up slightly. "With the exception of a few days, you have lived in a state of near-continual panic."

She swallows as he continues to rub just lightly, just teasing, and her leg twitches. She wants him. She doesn't understand why she does, or why she's so adamant about having him, but she wants him.

"So let me in, and I'll give you what you need."

She swallows again, feeling his hand travel up her stomach and down her side. Every touch is entirely too prominent in her mind. She can feel his hand moving, and the blindfold isn't helping her at all.

"Now, tell me the first concern that ran through your mind when you found out."

He sits there, touching her, making her want him so badly. She's going to blame this all on the baby. She scowls, squirming beneath his hand as she refuses to tell him. These are her problems, and she will work them out. That is it.

Until he slides his fingers against her clit, and she groans. No, she needs him. She squirms and bucks, trying to get something more from him as he rubs his fingers slowly down there. When she whines, he chuckles, pulling his fingers back.

"Talk, Altaïr."

She growls and is silent for a moment before hissing, "My job. What of my job? I am ruined."

"You are not ruined."

"I am a woman. I am pregnant. I am ruined."

"You are not a woman by society's rights. You surrendered that when you first picked up the blade and fought. You are a brother. You are the brotherhood, and within you grows the future of the brotherhood. Al Mualim can see this. That is why he accepted you into our folds."

"I will be ridiculed even more. The novices are novices! They know nothing!"

She grunts, suddenly glad that Malik isn't touching her at all as that need vanishes and she's hit with an overpowering wave of dizziness. Malik must have known that would happen. He must have. That's why he blindfolded her. He knew she was going to get dizzy and that having her eyes open to look at things would only make it worse. There was nothing to swim in her vision now.

"Altaïr, you are the first to become pregnant in the order. Even an assassin will see this as an extraordinary event. Perhaps even revolutionary, urging the assassins to find wives to indoctrinate into our order and raise entire lines of born-and-bred assassins."

"H-how do you know?" she groans as she feels Malik untie her hands.

The blindfold is helping, but she wants to puke now. She can feel her head swimming, and she doesn't want to know what it would be like if Malik hadn't successfully blindfolded her. She exhales shakily, resting her hands by her sides as the man strokes her belly gently. It helps.

"I do not know—"

"No," she grunts, pissed off. Will her body ever calm down? "No, how do you know when I am craving something? When I will get dizzy? When I am panicking? How do you know such things?"

Malik is silent, and she rests her hands on her stomach, turning her head toward where she believed him to be. As much as she hates to admit it, she is beginning to feel a bit better about the baby, despite her nausea and her dizziness. As much as she will dismiss it on the baby, getting these things in the open is a good thing for her. She smiles softly when she feels Malik press a kiss to her brow, running his hand through her hair.

"I cannot answer those, as I do not know myself. My only inkling would be that it is because we have been through so much together, have struggled so much against each other, that I can know what you need."

She frowns. "So then, why would I not be ridiculed, if I am a brother but not a woman, for getting pregnant? We are to live for our jobs, are we not?"

Malik chuckles, his hand back on her stomach. She won't lie: it feels nice.

"You are a woman—"

"You just said—"

"I said you are not a woman by society's rights. Yet still, as you lie bare before me, I see your breasts and the folds of your womanhood, and I know that you are, in fact, a woman. Not in career, but in body."

She blinks behind the blindfold and quirks an eyebrow. That is the stupidest thing she had heard him say. His intelligence is leaving him.

"You…" she begins, trying to figure out how to best form the words, then giving up and figuring she should just say it, "are an idiot, and such pretty words do not work with me."

"I should hope not, or else you would be a sad excuse of an assassin."

She snorts, falling silent as she allows Malik to caress her stomach. She lies there, blinded, one hand by her head and the other by her side.

"Is there anything else?"

She pauses, and she can feel her mind kick into overdrive as it has been for the past while. Of course there's something else. There's always something else. She can't stop the million and six thoughts that are now rushing in uninvited from her traitorous mind. Always with her—she's thinking a million things that she could voice. She's married. She's pregnant. She's married. She doesn't want to have the baby. She does want to have the baby. She wants to fight but she can't. Her heartbeat quickens as she thinks about this, about all these things that she'll have to get out there for Malik to be satisfied, but she's not used to just talking, not used to opening her mouth and letting the words come out.

"Speak," comes the command, and it's as if a storm of words is let loose.

"I'm married, Malik, fucking married and even though it's to the man I've always wanted I'm married without really wanting it before I had come to terms with it! I'm married—married!—and it's the man I've always wanted! I've dreamed about having a child, having children, and now I've got this child in my stomach!" she's borderline screeching, hardly remembering the novices in the next room. "I have child in my stomach! It's growing there, getting bigger, getting stronger," and her voice starts to begin to crescendo into a panic as her heart picks up and her blood starts to pound, "and who's to say that it's not going to rip my stomach open and leave me to bleed to death because I've heard a lot of women die giving birth and that the pain is nothing like anything anyone's experienced and that there's always the baby could die later on in life," she's heaving in gasps like she's going to start crying, even though she refuses to acknowledge the sting of hot water in her eyes, "and that's just the beginning! What if I lose the child? I can't do it, Malik—I can't do it! I can't go through the pain and lose the baby!" She refuses to acknowledge the burning water being absorbed by the blindfold. She won't admit she's crying. "Or what if I lose my child? What if I get attacked and lose my baby? What if Al Mualim finds out that Robert escapes because I'm waylaid because I couldn't keep my legs together? Something isn't right with these men I kill anyway! What if there some bigger scheme and I miss the opportunity to stop it! Malik, what if I can't reconcile the assassin in me with the mother in me? What if I can't keep myself from fighting or attacking or end up stressing myself out too much? What if I can't trust you enough? What if I can't calm down enough? What if—"

By now, she's sobbing so hard she can't keep speaking, and the blindfold feels soaked through. She can feel it, but she can't think logically anymore, and she turns her thoughts over to her crying. Can the baby feel this? Does the baby know she's crying? Is the baby crying, and thus she is too? Is the baby the one in charge? What is the baby thinking? Can it think? Is she upsetting it by crying? She is such a horrible mother. Malik says nothing, rubbing her belly as she cries. He makes only quiet shushing noises, letting her cry. She's taking huge, ragged breathes in between sobs, feeling as if she's already been ripped wide open internally, letting all of this out, and all she can do is cry and weep, heaving for breath as if she can't get enough, and her nose is running, and she's starting to get a stomach ache from how hard she's crying.

She makes a muffled sob when she feels lips on hers, even though her nose is running and she can't see a thing. It's a gentle kiss, a press of lips upon lips. Then, those lips begin to move, and she finds herself mimicking the motions, trying to distract herself from tears and worry. Her crying is stuttering to a stop, leaving her to sniff and whimper as Malik plays with her bottom lip, teasing it between his teeth and tracing the edges of the scar. He sucks on it gently, and she feels the blindfold lifted from her eyes, but she still can't see anything because her eyes are closed as that tongue flicks against her scar once more and pulls back. Her eyes open, and she can feel something inside her working itself out, like a knot in the rope of her mind is slowly untangling. She feels drained, and Malik is rubbing her stomach. She gets hit with a desire to sleep as she stares into his eyes.

"You are a fool, Altaïr. Allah always has a plan."

She blinks, then frowns slightly and yawns, earning a chuckle from Malik. She takes the offered kerchief and blows her nose.

"Come. Let me bathe you, and then we can sleep."

Her mind is completely shut down. She can't think anymore, and, for some reason, her thoughts are focused on the idea of a warm, secure, red place in her stomach. Her mind has a picture of her baby curled up inside her, comfortable and warm now that there's nothing else for her to feel. She lets Malik help her up and into the bath. She even lets him bathe her without protest, enjoying the warm waters. It's almost enough to put her to sleep, but Malik is done quickly, leading her out of the bath and curling with her beneath the covers on their pallet of blankets and pillows. She can feel his heartbeat as her back, his soft breath on her ear. His arm is resting over her side, gently caressing her stomach, and she closes her eyes. Tomorrow, she thinks, tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day.

She spends the next month or so in a blissful daze, completely and utterly worn out from the night she cried. She doesn't really remember much as she walks around, one arm under her belly and the other around it as if it could sag. She eats what she feels like, what Malik gives her, and she spends most of her time either sitting beside him or resting in the cushions. She vaguely remembers hearing something about the funeral soon, but she can't find it in herself to care as she watches Malik move around the bureau.

Occasionally, he stops and stares at her in her not-really drugged up state. It seems like her belly has exploded in terms of size. What was once just annoyingly noticeable is now huge, already as big as the mothers of normal children. She doesn't remember what month she's in. Her sixth, she thinks, in the middle of her sixth, but her stomach is huge, and it keeps growing. It's as if the growth was stunted while she was panicking, and the abundance of food and the nice long resting period had given the baby the ability to boom in size. Her back hurts, and so do her breasts, and she can tell her breasts are growing again. Still, the ability to laze around the bureau is a luxury.

Malik introduces her to the midwife, and the midwife gives her a check-up, looking utterly amused at her state and her belly.

She has no clothes that fit anymore. Not even Malik's are comfortable, and for once, the baby outsmarted the man. The clothes he had ordered were too small now that her belly was large and nearly bursting with the baby. So she lounges around with her pants untied, hanging low and loose around her waist, and a long strip of cloth wrapped around her breasts to make her decent enough to walk out into the main room.

Malik pales as the midwife talks to him, chuckling at his expression and looking at her. She smiles softly as she reclines in the pillows, her mind still a little hazy, and the midwife smiles at her. The lady is a kind old woman, one who has seen many births and knows what she's doing. She will be in good hands when she gives birth. The little old lady hobbles over to her side and sits. She doesn't hear a word that's said, but she enjoys the woman's company.

However, she snaps from her trance one day when she walks into the main room and sees Malik, a novice, a journeyman, and a master assassin shutting up the main room. The midwife is sitting there, chuckling as they frantically rush about, and Altaïr can hear a long bellowing noise in the distance, an instrument. She slowly walks over with her arms around her stomach and sits down slowly in the cushions.

"What's happening?" she asks the lady.

"A sandstorm!" the woman cackles. "Looks like your mission is put off by Allah himself, child!"

She blinks, looking at her. The old lady is watching the young men secure the doorway as the sandstorms hits, looking utterly amused.

"How did you know?" she asks, and the old woman looks at her, shaking her head.

The old woman has a kind face that she seems to be reserving for her alone. Probably only for mothers-to-be. "I am fully aware of everything you've been through. Your husband has made it clear to me. Although I must admit, he took the news of twins exceptionally well."

She blinks. "Twins?"

The old lady cackles again as the men stop their frantic preparations, and they're panting. She seems to be getting a great amusement from watching her husband and the other men.

"You were out of it," she says, her eyes glimmering with excitement, perhaps not used to such activity. "As to be expected."

She stares at the lady a while longer, blinking, as her mind works through this. She has twins. Which means not one baby, but two babies living in her stomach. Two babies curled up together in her womb, feeding off her, waiting to come out. She can hear the sound of the sandstorm outside as a smile creeps onto her face, her arms around her stomach tightening slightly. The old lady is watching her with a warm look, an affectionate look.

She has twins. She has two babies. Not one, but two. They are living inside her—can they feel her smile? She rubs her stomach slowly, unable to get rid of the smile.

Twins.

_Twins._

Will they be friends? Enemies? What gender are they? Will they get along? Will they share that bond all twins seem to share? She continues to rub her stomach as she adjusts in the pillows. Two children. Malik comes over, bending down to cup the back of her head and kiss her. When he pulls away, she's still smiling.

"I'm glad to see you're better."

"I feel much better. I think I needed that month of nothing."

"Do you even remember it?"

"Not really," she murmurs. "We have twins."

Malik's soft look falters for just a minute, and she can hear the midwife cackle. Before she gets the chance to wonder if Malik wants twins or now, that smile is back on his lips and he's kissing her again. She's smiling as he kisses the corner of her eye and her ear.

"I know. The midwife made it clear. You are far too big to be in a normal pregnancy."

She can hear the roar of the sandstorm ripping over the bureau, and she blinks. What if there are still assassins out there? What if they're caught in the sandstorm? What if—

"Malik!" she hisses. "What if there are assassins out in the storm?"

"There are not, Altaïr. Stop your ceaseless worry."

"What if there are?" she insists. "You know how quickly—"

"There are not," come from the master assassin. "I have escorted the only assassins here."

She looks at him before her eyes slide to the chatty novice. The boy blinks, jerking back. She furrows her brow.

"Where are your friends?"

The boy blinks again, then smiles. "They went back to Masyaf, Master. A few days ago, while you were feeling out of it."

She gestures for him to come over. The boy comes bouncing over, sitting beside her and smiling. She takes his hand.

"Are you sure they'll be okay?"

"I'm positive, Master."

She holds out her arm, and the boy snuggles into his side, smiling. She rests her chin on his head as the novice makes himself at home in her arm. She hopes the others are safe in Masyaf as she rubs the boy's arm. For some reason, she's worried about them. Before, she couldn't care less about the others. Why did she care so much now? Was it because she was pregnant? Was it because of Solomon's Temple? Was she finally getting along with her womanly side?

"I think I like Master Altaïr as a mother."

Malik snorts. "Yes. If she is reconciles herself, but she seems to be doing that just fine."

"I told you she would," the old lady snips.

Malik rolls his eyes, stepping back to the counter and pulling out a map. Altaïr is just fine with cuddling the novice. She's worried about the others that might be out there. If they get caught in it, they might not survive. She feels the boy wrap an arm around her.

"They'll be okay, Master Altaïr. I promise."

"If you don't watch yourself, Altaïr," Malik begins, "those novices will become spoiled by your coddling."

"Shut up," Altaïr snaps at him. "I'm worried about the others out there."

The novice cuddles in, and she lets him. It helps alleviate her tension.

"This is a surprising turn of events," she hears the other master assassin say as he sits on one of the pillows they brought in. "I never would have thought that the Great Eagle of Masyaf could be so… motherly?"

She snorts, glaring at the man. "Be quiet, or I will be forced to teach you a lesson."

The old lady cackles as Malik brings them over a bowl of dried fruit. As if on cue, the craving hits, and her hand is in the bowl.

"It will be an interesting change to watch," the journeyman says, settling down nearby. "I can see why the novices will like it if this is just the beginning. She will coddle them like her own children."

"I never could have guessed she was still in tune with her motherly side," the master replied.

"She wasn't," Malik snips, his gaze turning into a glare. "And I had to deal with her continual panic attack."

The novice hums, and she realizes she still doesn't know his name. It doesn't matter, though, and she hunkers down to wait out the sandstorm. The boy is cuddled in close, and she's perfectly content to sit there, cuddling with him, as she listens to the storm raging outside. She falls asleep with the boy in her arm, her cheek against his head, and her mind blessedly empty. She gets the feeling she's going to get addicted to being a mother. Her back hurts, and so do her breasts, but she hopes this is all worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING.**

**BIRTHING LIES AHEAD. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.**

* * *

When she wakes up, the sandstorm is still going, and Malik is fixing them dinner. The novice is still cuddled against her, and she feels uncomfortable. Her shirt feels wet, well, the thing holding back her breasts. The novice notices her squirming and looks at her.

"Hello, Master Altaïr!"

She looks down at her chest and grunts. She wants to know what's going on. The old lady rises and tisks.

"Is something wrong, Altaïr?" she says more than asks.

"Yeah…"

"All right, boys! Out of the room!"

The two assassins frown at being bossed around, and the novice blinks but scurries off. Malik frowns.

"Even myself?" he asks, setting down his quill.

"Not yourself as you're her husband—provided she wants you here."

Altaïr shrugged. "I don't mind."

Malik nodded and turned to the other two. "Go into my room and wait."

The two harrumph but listen, and Altaïr is staring at her breasts again. They feel wet. Once the men are gone, she undoes the top, alarmed to see that her top is wet and that her breasts are wet, too. She frowns as she takes her breast in her hand to see a liquid leaking out. She swipes it from her nipple and looks up at the midwife. She doesn't know what this is, but if the midwife hasn't already started freaking out, she's not going to worry. The lady meets her gaze, nodding.

"Ah, I see. You've finally started lactating."

"But this isn't milk," she says, rubbing the liquid between her fingers.

It doesn't look like milk. It doesn't look like anything that has come from a camel. It's yellowish and clear. The midwife chuckles, sitting in the chair by her side.

"It's not milk," she says, smiling warmly, "but it's essential for your child. I've seen children that don't drink that, handed over to a wet-nurse. They're sickly little things. Poor things."

She blinks, meeting Malik's gaze. The man looks semi-concerned. She's concerned too. If it's leaking out now, there might not be any left for the babies when they get here. She might leak it all out before she has the chance to feed them, her twins, her two babies.

"I wouldn't worry, Altaïr," the old lady says. "All that's going on is your breasts are starting to make the stuff to feed your babies. Your breasts are too full now, so it's leaking out."

"But I won't run out, will I?"

The midwife shakes her head. "Don't worry about it, Altaïr. Your body knows what it's doing. Your mind may not, but your body does."

She blinks. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"No, but your husband may want to look into something to absorb it to make you more comfortable."

She looks at Malik, who is pursing his lips, a serious look on his face. He nods once.

"I will do that as soon as the sandstorm is over."

She hums, wrapping her breasts back up as the novice comes bounding back out. He tucks himself back against her, grinning like a fool, and she smiles back at him.

"So, why did you stay here while your friends went back?"

"I asked him to," Malik murmurs, leaning on the counter. "He seems to have taken to you well."

She smiles warmly at her husband.

"And he will distract you more than I can. I am here to help you confront your fears. He will distract you."

The rest of the sandstorm is spent cuddling with the novice, and the boy soaks it all up like a rag. He chatters ceaselessly about his days at the castle, and how he's not that good with a sword, so he gets a lot of crap from the older assassins. Master Rauf is nice and encouraging though, and he's always full of energy and willing to help him. Altaïr can't help but smile as she listens to him. The boy is carving away at a small piece of wood with a knife Malik found. He talks and talks and talks, and for some reason, she actually enjoys listening to the boy. It's refreshing to hear someone talk so idly, to fill her day with merriness.

And she truly begins to appreciate it when the sandstorm ends, and a month later her belly is so big it's too much of a hassle to move from the bedroom to the main room. The midwife is there almost continually, watching the two of them with an amused look. The boy is a welcome distraction from her thoughts, and she finds that he keeps her from worrying, keeps her from stressing, and when Malik lies down beside her in the main room, she finds herself loving every minute. When the sun goes down and the candles are snuffed out, the man comes over and lies beside her, kissing her and caressing her belly. He makes her feel warm inside, the attentions making the pain easier to handle.

It also makes her feel better when Malik starts getting pains, too

Between Malik, the midwife, and the novice, she doesn't notice the storm that starts to roll in one night near the nine-month mark. Despite the pain, despite the leaky breasts, she's had a blast being pregnant, the novice cheering her up and her husband has done nothing but accommodate her. She still amazed as he serves her food after food, effectively nailing every one of her cravings and still cuddling her despite the back pains. He goes out and buys her absorbent cloth to shove in her shirt to soak up the liquid that leaks off.

Of course, then the second storm rolls in. She doesn't quite register it, feeling highly uncomfortable as she adjusts in the pillows. A second novice joined her when the Master assassin left, and they've been huddled around her, entertaining her and cheering her up. They've been blessings. She can see the worry in their eyes as she keeps adjusting, and she almost wants to tell them to fetch the midwife who's vanished to fetch something or another. She grunts, squirms again, and then freezes, her eyes wide.

She heard a pop inside her, and now it feels like she on her period again, blood seeping out. She looks down, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the feel of warm water rushing out of her—

And sees the floor is wet, as well as her pants.

"M-master Altaïr?"

She blinks, staring at the mess on the floor. Water? She had water gushing out of her?

"Go fetch the midwife," she commands.

Water couldn't be good. Water all over the floor had to be a bad sign. What her babies got infected? What if they were dying? What if she was going to give birth to sick babies? She couldn't have that. She wasn't going to let that happen. The novices are trailing in behind the mid wife who is carrying armfuls of rags and a bowl of water. Malik was walking in behind her, as well as the journeyman, and she looks at them all, scowling.

"What's going on?"

The midwife chuckles. "Get ready, mommy, the babies are getting ready to come out."

She blinks. "What?"

"Those babies are gonna come pushing out of you soon enough. I hope you're ready. Will you need your husband to strangle?"

Strangely enough, the others are still hanging back as Malik comes over and sits beside her, ready and waiting. The midwife gestures, and she spreads her legs for the woman to sit down.

"Let's take off those pants before the blood starts coming out."

The journeyman has vanished, and the two novices are bright red. She grunts, helping the midwife take off her pants. Shame has no place now if the babies are getting ready to come out. No shame can be had.

"You don't have to be here," Malik says, and she looks up to see the novices looking awkwardly around.

The chatty novice jumps at being addressed and shuffles his feet. "Should we leave you alone? I mean… I mean… isn't it painful? Wouldn't she want support? Besides, she's been humoring us for months…"

"If you think you can stomach it, it will make you a stronger assassin," the midwife says.

Altaïr can feel it, inside her. Something is going to happen soon. Still, the novices come shuffling over closely as she lies there, naked from the waist down with her midwife in between her legs.

"Now," the midwife begins, "I've seen women give birth anywhere from a day to a day and a half after their water broke, so we may be here a while. Will that be okay with you?"

Altaïr nods. "I'm not going to be moving anyway."

"None of us will," Malik say. "The storm brewing outside is ridiculous. I think that Allah has purposefully put the forces of nature to work to make sure that you are safe for your pregnancy."

Altaïr chuckles, leaning back in the pillows. She can hear the winds picking up. Jerusalem has been cursed with her pregnancy, but she has been blessed. These children, she's convinced, are an act of Allah, and this was his plan. The novices eventually come over and sit, and they fill the next stretch of time with idle chatter, awkwardly keeping their eyes adverted as they talk.

And then it hits.

The first contraction.

And oh _fuck_ does it begin to hurt.

It happens again, and again, and more and more frequently until she's screaming, her eyes squeezed shut as hard as she squeezes Malik's hand. This is _nothing_ like what she's felt.

And she is going to _murder_ Malik.

_After_ she castrates him.

And _after _she strangles him.

And _after_ she eviscerates him.

And _after_ she forces a person up his ass and makes him shit back out.

And _after _she drags him along the ground, naked, tied to the back of a horse.

And _after_ she has an eagle peck his eyes out, followed by his balls, followed by his organs.

She's completely overtaken by pain, the only thought in her mind to get rid of these children as soon as possible and push them out. She can't take much more of this. She can't hear Malik beside her, the storm roaring outside the bureau. Her head hurts from how hard she's squeezing her eyes shut, and all she can think about is the _pain_.

The unholy amounts of pain she's got from pushing what feels like a fully grown man out her vagina. She can feel down there tearing, ripping, and she's not going to be able to walk for _days_, if not _weeks_. Her mind is _consumed_ by pain, and it's lodging itself deep within her muscles as she keeps pushing because she _has_ to _get these things out._

And eventually, she lies there with her head swimming, completely numb to the world as the pain continues to radiate throughout her. She feels warm and wet, and it's not pleasant. She feels light-headed, and she wonders if she's going to die.

She closes her eyes, breathing in deep and concentrating on the pain, willing it away and feeling it fade into something manageable.

When she wakes up, it's to the sound of two voices crying shrilly and the sound of the storm still roaring outside. She still feels dizzy, and her groin _hurts_, and will for weeks, but she grunts, gritting her teeth through the pain and opening her eyes. She looks to see the midwife trying to comfort one of the newborn babies, and Malik standing there awkwardly, not actually knowing what to do. Her breasts feel weird for just a moment, as if they were letting something down inside them.

Her babies have got to be hungry, she thinks, and she thrusts her arms out. The midwife meets her gaze with a soft smile, and before she knows it, Altaïr has two beautiful pink bundles in her arms. They're suckling at her breasts, and she can feel a deep-seeded warmth making the pain tolerable. One of them is worming around, even in the swaddling clothes, with his mouth moving as if talking, and as the pain radiates throughout her, concentrating in her groin, she can't help but watch them fondly. They are the best things she's ever seen, and watching them feed, knowing that she gave birth to them, is an incredible feeling. She can't wait until she's able to walk around with them. She can't wait to raise them.

Malik has taken to sitting by her side, running a hand through her hair, and she looks up at him. He kisses her temple, and she offers a tired, tiny smile. She lets them nurse, fighting the pain and her sleepiness. She feels good, despite her pain. Her heart is fluttering inside her chest, and she can feel this new warmth budding inside her. It makes the pain manageable, and suddenly she feels as if all the trouble, all the panic, all the worry was worth it. Every lost meal, every minute of pain, it was worth it. She has two, _two_, beautiful children.

"So, mommy and daddy," she looks to see the midwife smiling at them. "What are you going to name your two healthy boys?"

She blinks, recognition dawning on her as she looks at Malik. The man looks equally as surprised. She thinks for a bit, running through names.

"Kadar?" she mutters before she knows it.

Malik gives her pained grimace, and she winces. Perhaps not.

"Too painful," she utters.

They're silent for a while, churning over name ideas. To be quite honest, she was never good at naming things. It just wasn't her strong suit. Nevertheless, she keeps thinking until she hears Malik chuckle. She looks at him.

"How about Tazim and Darim?"

She blinks. "They rhyme."

Malik smirks at her. "I know."

"But who is who, then?"

Malik looks at the babies. "How about… the squirmy one is Darim, and the other, Tazim?"

Altaïr quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head, but nods. "Sounds good."

She looks down at them, smiling, watching her two beautiful, _beautiful_, boys nurse.

"Darim and Tazim," she murmurs, and she feels her heart warm up and the pain fade momentarily as Darim's eyes flutter open just briefly.

They fall asleep in her arms once they're full, and she nods off shortly after.

It's several days later before she sees the novices again, and they seem to be bashful around her. She's walking around on shaky legs, planning with Malik to get her strength back as she holds Darim and her husband holds Tazim, who both are sleeping. Darim is squirming and talking to them, and she can't help but laugh. For only a few days old, the boy is already chattery and talking, despite it all being in his sleep. Malik and her are talking with him in between plan making.

The novices come shuffling in, and she looks, seeing them for the first time without their hoods. One of them is shorter than the other, with lighter colored eyes and lighter hair. The taller has dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin. The darker of the two is slimmer. They're looking everywhere but at her, and she frowns. Before she has a chance to speculate, Malik chuckles.

"Cut them some slack, Altaïr. While you don't remember it, they managed to watch the whole birth without passing out."

She blinks. She doesn't remember any of the birth aside from the pain. She watches as the shorter points to the other.

"Shahin puked," he says as if he was tattling.

"You did, too, Turgay," the boy who she now knows as Shahin.

She chuckles as Shahin smacks his hand away from pointing, and she looks to see Darim squirming. He must need to be changed. When she sets the baby down to change, Turgay comes creeping over. He wrinkles his nose, but keeps watching. She can't help but shake her head at the boyish face, wondering how he got into the order and how he's doing with his training. His name is Turkish, she thinks, and the other boy's name has Persian origins, if she's not mistaken. Nevertheless, as Turgay starts talking to alleviate some of the awkwardness of learning to clean a baby's bum, she finds herself smiling softly, realizing this is going to become a regular thing.

Turgay and Shahin quickly adopt themselves into her family, learning to help Malik with the children while she trains to regain her strength. It's well over two weeks before she can actually start training again, and most of her time is spent breastfeeding her twins and cleaning up their messes, but she's in love, and that's all that matters. Malik is as helpful as he can be, but between running the bureau and the children, she figures it's best to cut him some slack for once.

But that doesn't change the fact that she's never seen anyone change out and clean a baby so quickly with one hand.

Nevertheless, she finds herself fretting about the quickly approaching funeral. This time, she has no option. The storms are done, and the funeral will happen whether something hits or not. As she cuddles Turgay while breastfeeding Darim, she worries about what will happen. What if she can't catch Robert, or beat him, because she's still too weak? She's still catching up on her strength, and she can't even begin to think about dying on this assignment. There's no way that can happen. Turgay starts reading aloud from whatever book he's reading, and she blinks, listening to the boy. When she looks at Malik, the man is staring at her, watching her. He knew what she was thinking.

So, when she wakes up between naps some three months after the birth of her children and the "adoption" of her novices Turgay and Shahin, only to find a woman dressed as Robert tied up and bound in the bureau, she's a little surprised. She had woken with Darim, carrying the boy out to keep him from waking his brother. Darim screams with glee, babbling happily as he wiggles and worms. He's the louder of the two, the more active one, and she's amazed by how different they are. They both recognize her, their father, and even identify Turgay and Shahin, greeting them all differently from the strangers that pass through. They're sleeping patterns have become almost regular, Darim up at all hours eager to talk, Tazim sleeping as if it's the best thing in the world. Darim talks and talks and talks, and Tazim sits there and listens. Darim wiggles and squirms, eager to get up and get moving, and Tazim cuddles with mom or dad or his brothers.

So, when she comes out carrying Darim, only to see the trussed up Templar in the bureau, she's a little nervous. Darim, however, is oblivious, screaming a greeting and then cuddling into Altaïr's chest. Malik is pacing furiously.

"Here is your Robert de Sable," her husband hisses.

She frowns, meeting the Templar's gaze. "What sorcery is this? She is a woman like me!"

"And who are you?" the woman spits.

Altaïr straightens up. "I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, the Great Eagle of Masyaf."

The woman jerks, looking surprised. "W-what?"

"You heard me, Templar. Who are you, and why do you now kneel where Robert should be?"

"We cannot deny your success. You have laid waste to our plans. First the treasure, then our men. Control of the Holy Land slipped away. But then he saw an opportunity to reclaim what has been stolen, to turn your victories to our advantage."

"Al Mualim still holds your treasure, and we've routed your army before. Whatever Robert plans, he'll fail again."

"Ah, but it's not just Templars you'll contend with now."

"Speak sense," she hisses, and Turgay comes walking out with Tazim, who winds up to cry at the sight of the woman.

"Robert rides for Arsuf to plead his case that Saracen and Crusader unite against the Assassins," the woman says, her hostility lessening when Turgay gives Tazim to his papa.

"That will never happen! They have no reason to."

All her previous thoughts about the men she had laid to rest are now coming back to the forefront of her mind. She remembers her confusion, all the connections that were being draw.

"Had perhaps. But now you've given them one. Nine in fact. The bodies you've left behind-victims on both sides. You've made the Assassins an enemy in common and ensured the annihilation of your entire order. Well done."

She frowns. "Nine? Who is the ninth?"

The woman frowns. "Myself, you ingrate."

Altaïr blinks, then frowns. "There is no ninth. I will not take your life. From one woman to another, it is reassuring to see another woman fighting for rights among men."

The woman snorts. "Says the one with two kids."

"Four," she murmurs, frowning. "The two in grey are mine as well."

"They look too old."

"They are novices training under my wing."

The woman is silent, and Altaïr watches her.

"Shahin, cut her ropes. Let her free."

Shahin looks alarmed, and so does the journeyman in the other room. Altaïr adjusts Darim, who has started looking for his brother. Malik moves to stand by her side, and Tazim's crying is immediately placated by his brother's chatter when they see each other. She wonders if it has something to do with the fact that they're twins. She's heard rumors they have "magical" properties.

"Are you sure, Altaïr?" Malik murmurs as Shahin does as he's told.

"I am positive. She is not my mark. Her life is not mine to take. Besides," she says, looking at the woman as she rubs her wrists, "it is a relief to know my struggles are not alone."

The woman snorts. "Who is to say that I will not tell on this place, this gathering of assassins?"

Altaïr goes to respond, but Darim is grabbing at her chest, his face winding up to cry. The journeyman vanishes, and Turgay and Shahin move the pillows to make her a spot to breastfeed. She sighs, sitting down and preparing to nurse.

"You would nurse in front of me and these men?"

"Why would I not? You are a woman. I am a woman. The man is my husband and the boys watched the birth. I have no shame in front of them. They are my family."

"And the other man who left?"

"He is a brother in our brotherhood, but nothing more. He, too, views me the same way."

"It sounds like he is cold."

"I am a woman—and better than him to boot. I have fought long and hard to earn my rank. These children I have were at my own expense. I let no man control me and submit to just a few."

The woman is watching her breastfeed the baby, and Turgay has come over, sitting beside her and cuddling into her side. The boy seems to enjoy cuddling, for all it's worth, and she remembers overhearing him calling her "mom" to Shahin and the journeyman once while she was still fat with the babies. It had made her smile, made her proud to hear that the novice considered her his surrogate mother, and soon enough, she had caught Shahin calling her "mom."

"And yet you feed them so freely in front of men?"

She chuckles, meeting the woman's gaze. "Why not? These boys are still fresh-faced youths, children I have taken under my wing. I have heard them call me 'momma' when they think I am not around. Our brotherhood is broken, and when all is said and done, I will push to change that."

The two novices blush, glancing at her quickly for being found out. The boys are louder than they think they are, but then again, they are boys. They are still probably going through puberty, and they will still go through that awkward stage of life. The Templar is silent a while longer before she nods.

"I see. It will be a pity to see your fortress wiped out, with such a change and revolution around the corner."

"We will live. We are strong. Allah has blessed me during my pregnancy with a sandstorm and two crippling storms."

"So you are a Muslim."

Altaïr looks at her. "I am, but our Gods are not so different. I have seen both texts. As blasphemous as it will sound, it is easy to believe that our Gods are the same. The crusades are a pointless war of two factions with the same God."

"You do speak blasphemy."

"Ah, but I am also a woman in a man's land. I am allowed to do as I please having forfeited my womanhood."

"I would hardly say so, given you now have two children suckling at your breasts."

"But I will pick up my blade a second time, and thus debase myself again. Nevertheless, I live a free life. I am happy with my choices."

The woman nods. "I see. You speak French well."

"We are taught many languages from a young age. My children will as well."

A few minutes after Darim is done feeding, Tazim gets hungry, and the Templar chuckles as she watches. The rest of the day is spent with the woman Templar, whose name is Maria Thorpe, and they relate stories to each other about their struggles to ascend the ranks. It's incredible how much they have in common, and Altaïr is excited to have a new friend by the end of the day. Climbing the ranks in the Templars is no different from climbing the ranks in the assassins, and she feels as if she had made a connection with the woman. She let her hold Darim, who seemed to be quickly taken with her once he knew that Momma wasn't leaving him with a stranger. He babbled and talked, vying for her attention as much as he could, and Altaïr couldn't help but smirk at the smile Maria had by the end of the day. She bids the woman farewell in the evening, watching as she dons the helmet and sends a smirk at her.

"You'd best leave soon, but I have a feeling that you have a few days at most."

Altaïr chuckles. "Perhaps one day our paths will cross again, Maria. Maybe even to have you join our ranks."

Maria laughs and shakes her head. "Perhaps. Provided you win this stupid war."

Altaïr laughs as Tazim snuggles into her chest. "Yes."

She watches her walk off and then walks back into the bureau. The two novices are getting ready for sleep, and Malik greets her with a kiss. She smiles as she sits beside him behind the counter.


	5. Chapter 5

"So what will you do?"

She's silent. Malik will not approve of the decision she has already made. She will dress in her robes she wore in her pregnancy to the mosque, and ride out with the babies and the novices. She cannot leave them here with the man, for while he is formidable on the field, she has seen how he struggles to hold one baby. Perhaps when they do not need quite as much attentiveness when it comes to being held he will struggle less, but he cannot take care of the twins on his own. The journeyman will not help him, and she is carrying the children's meals. She will take the novices, leave Malik to care for the bureau (for he will insist on fighting in her place), and head out to find King Richard in Arsuf dressed as a regular woman escorted by two assassins. Hopefully from there, she will be able to talk to the man, convince him of the traitors in his ranks, and finish this problem once and for all.

"I… am not sure," she lies, and Malik seems to accept it. "I think I will ride out in a few days' time, but we have many preparations to make first."

Malik hums, wrapping his arm around her as he waits for the ink to dry on his newest map. She blinks.

"Are you not concerned I will die?"

Malik is silent, and then starts laughing. This attracts the attention of the two novices, and Shahin comes padding over. He ruffles the boy's hair, making him smile, and then her husband looks at her.

"Altaïr… Altaïr, I love you, but you can be an idiot at times. If that birth did not kill you, I can believe that Robert would not hold a candle to you."

She snorts. "I take it you know of a wet-nurse, then?"

He nods. "I do. I will contact her tomorrow."

Altaïr nods her head minutely. "I understand."

She will leave tonight, then. There is so much to do. Her assassin's gear and armor is already in a bag, having been returned from the tailor and the smith to accommodate for her the changes in her body. Predominately her chest size, but that's not the only change. Her monthly bleeding is lighter: she has no cramps. She feels healthier.

She cuddles with her husband until they go to bed, and shortly after he falls asleep, out cold from all the waking from the children, she bags her gear, some provisions, and then creates a carrier for Darim. She places Tazim in the carrier she has and walks out, waking the two novices silently. They follow her orders soundlessly, and Shahin picks up the supplies while she secures Darim to Turgay's chest. She scrawls Malik a quick note and dresses in her pregnancy robes, and then three set out on horses in the middle of the night, riding well until mid-afternoon to feed the babies and change them. They are crying and hungry, and she cannot blame them, but with their slow pace, she had to put distance between her and Jerusalem.

It takes many days of slow travel to reach Arsuf, but when she does, she's gotten the hang of traveling with tiny children, and Turgay and Shahin have been a blessing. They have kept the guards at bay, and they guarded her corner as she put her gear on underneath the robes before they attempt the final stretch between her and King Richard. She's nervous, and Darim is chattering merrily in Shahin's arms as she carries Tazim, the pickier one. She can see the guards of the camp preparing to attack, only to hear them call off at the sight of her civilian dress and the babies. She must remain calm. Allah is guiding her.

When she arrives, she is surrounded, and they dismount, their horses being taken to food and water. She keeps her eyes lowered, cuddling Tazim to keep him from making a fuss.

"Ah… this is an interesting sight, yes?" she hears, and the crowd of guards part to reveal Robert with King Richard. "A Muslim with two assassins approaching the camp of Christians."

"What is it you need, woman, to seek us out in the middle of war with two assassins at your side?" the king commands.

"Please, your majesty," she says before she can stop herself. "I seek protection for my children."

"But not for yourself?" the king says, sounding skeptical.

"I believe you know why, your majesty," she murmurs after a few minutes.

"Because of your heathen ways?" Robert suggests, and she hears King Richard laugh.

"I thought so," the man roars after laughing. "You are an assassin too? What brings you to my presence, with children no less?"

She allows herself a smile as she stands straight. Robert looks mildly surprised. It's amazing the difference children can make. The other guards are immediately on the defensive, but King Richard waves them down, looking utterly amused as he gazes at the children.

"I did not know that assassins were allowed to rear children," the man says.

"But you assume we allow women, your highness?"

"It would not surprise me," the man says, chuckling.

She's glad she's caught the king in a good mood.

"My children are an accident, but they are my blessing, and I am now married with two boys. I would think I could not ask for more."

"Then why risk it all and come here?" the king asks, shaking his head.

She chuckles: King Richard is a good man.

"Because I know that God guides my steps. Today is a day that many changes will happen."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. I come to bring you word of a traitor in your midst. One that I have long ignored in favor of my children."

The king hums. "So then, who is it? I would presume he did not hire you, given that you would have put off killing me then."

"It is Robert de Sable," she murmurs, lowering her gaze. Play this right, and no one will get hurt.

"My lieutenant?" he asks, laughing.

"He aims to betray," she continues, her eyes growing wide as she hears Darim start babbling.

She looks over her shoulder, smiling as Shahin has a finger in Darim's grasp as he murmurs quietly to the baby through the cloth covering his mouth. Darim is chattering merrily, as always, quickly identifying a new audience and trying to get their attentions. She chuckles.

"That's not the way he tells it. He seeks revenge against your people for the havoc you've wrought in Acre. And I am inclined to support him. Some of my best men were murdered by some of yours," the king says, although the smile on his face and the side-long glance at the baby lets her know she's winning before she's started.

"It was I who killed them and for good reason! Hear me out! William of Montferrat: he sought to use his soldiers to take Acre by force. Garnier de Naplouse: he would use his skills to indoctrinate and control any who resisted. Sibrand: he intended to block the ports, preventing your kingdom from providing aid. They betrayed you, and they took their orders from Robert."

"You expect me to believe that outlandish tale?"

"I am a woman who has fought her way to the top of the ranks, who has seen demotion and has given birth. Why would I stand in the face of the mightiest of Christian kings and lie to him? Why would I bring with me my two babies and my two adopted sons if I were not confident that you would at least consider my tale, your highness? You, of all people, who are guided by the voice of God and have been blessed by the angels, would give me a fair trial, despite the fact that I am an assassin and a mother, no less."

"Your flattery will not work with him," Robert hisses, but Altaïr knows she has already won this.

"Why is it that you talk of my God as if he is yours?" King Richard asks, and she bows her head slightly.

"I have seen things others have not, your highness, in my studies and my career. It is fair to say that my beliefs are not the same as my brothers having been raised an outcast."

King Richard is watching her as Tazim wakes. She pays the king no attention as she adjusts the bundle in her arms and caresses the child's face, murmuring to stay silent and be a good boy. The baby yawns and goes back to sleep.

"This is a strange place we find ourselves in… each of you accusing the other."

Altaïr straightens her back, meeting the king's gaze and wishing she had her eyes covered instead of her mouth and nose.

"There really is no time for this! I must be off to meet with Saladin and enlist his aid. The longer we delay, the harder this will become."

"Hold a moment, Robert."

"Why? What do you intend? Surely you do not believe her, this disgrace of a woman?"

"It is a difficult decision, one I cannot make alone. I must leave it in the hands of one wiser than I."

Robert bows. "Thank you."

"No, Robert, not you."

"Then who?"

King Richard looks at him. "The Lord. Let this be decided by combat. Surely God will side with the one whose cause is righteous."

"If this is what you wish."

"It is!"

"So be it," Robert growls.

She sees Robert picking out his men as she looks back at the king, who is smiling softly. She smiles beneath the cloth. They both know who will win, but it is nothing if not fair to give Robert a fighting chance. She takes the baby off her chest and approaches the king with her head down.

"Will you hold my child, your majesty? It is clear you have had experience, and Tazim reacts better in the hands of my husband than a child. When he wakes, if he cries, Turgay will take him and try to comfort him."

The king takes the baby, and it's quite clear he knows what he's doing with him as he adjusts to hold him properly.

"I wish you luck, assassin," the man whispers, and when she meets his gaze, they both know she won't need it.

"Turgay, Shahin, go and stand by the king. Turgay, take Tazim if he wakes and will not accept the king holding him," she commands as she peels away the robes to reveal her gear.

This is it, she thinks, as she watches the small crowd of men gather around Robert. Even he knows that he will lose. She draws her sword.

"You will not win, assassin!" the man hisses.

"You of all people should know the strength of a woman, given that your second-in-command is one," she says, holding the sword in an easy stance.

"But you are weak, having given birth," he hisses back, and all Altaïr can do is smirk.

She knows that she is stronger because of the birth. The only thing that will kill her is her groin, but she has been working hard to get over it, despite some residual pain. She even rode sideways on the horse to prevent chaffing and irritation.

"To arms, assassin!" he cries, and the fight begins.

It's a hard fight, and she can think of nothing else but the battle as she kills the men. She takes them down one-by-one, and she's getting fatigued. Her crotch aches badly, and her legs are trembling with fatigue. She's covered with numerous injuries and covered with blood and sweat. By the time she's down to just Robert, she can't think straight at all. Her vision is cloudy, and her body is exhausted. Her three months of spotty training was not enough for this. Still, she's blessed that Robert is an honorable fighter.

Of course, when she fumbles and Robert blocks her attack, lifting his foot to kick her back, she's proven wrong when his foot makes contact with her crotch. She crumples, crying out in pain, curling in on herself as she wills the pain away. No, her training was not enough. She's going to die and leave her children orphans. She was so close. Robert was beginning to weaken. She grunts as she hisses, squeezing her legs tight together and fighting the tears. Her groin should not be this sensitive still.

"Ha! So you call in your fledglings to help you?"

She blinks.

What? Her fledgling? She has no fledglings. She has children, but they are not the same.

She pants loudly, tilting her head to see Turgay standing there, his sword drawn and trembling in his hand. She can't see his face, but it's probably one of nervous determination. She grunts. Her boy needs to go back to the baby. She needs to get off her feet.

"I'm not letting you kill her. Besides, she has killed the rest of your men. My sword skill might not be as good as hers, but I can buy her some time to recover."

"Perhaps a few seconds!" the man exclaims, and Turgay is on the defense, blocking his attacks.

She watches, stunned, as she slowly rolls onto her stomach. It's clear Turgay is not skilled enough to kill the man, but he is doing well in blocking him. Now to get the energy to fight the pain and finish Robert.

Until Turgay's sword gets knocked from his hand, and she sees Robert raise his sword to deliver the finishing blow.

And it dawns on her that Robert is going to kill her son.

She can feel it, the roar of the blood in her ears and the woosh of adrenaline in her veins. She can feel her anger surge to insurmountable rage as she screams. She watches as Robert's eyes grow wide, his attack falters, and she feels herself float from the ground and to the man. His sword falls from his hand, and he turns tail to flee, but he is too slow. Her floating is faster, and she collides into him before his blade hits the earth, her short blade drawn as she lands on him, her blade buried into the ground through his neck. She slices clean through and feels herself lifted from the ground for that out-of-body experience she had with the others.

When she comes back down after listening to him talk to her, she is standing over the body, snarling as she feels the weight of an inkpot in her hand and her short blade in the other. She screams at the men, and then turns her gaze on King Richard, who is watching with wide eyes. She looks down, wondering why she's holding an inkpot in one hand, and scowls.

It's not an inkpot.

It's Robert's head, severed from the body and preserved forever with that state of utter horror.

How in hell did she compare it to an inkpot?

She pitches it behind her with a harrumph, straightening and cleaning her blade off. She'll need new robes again if she does not clean these quickly. She doesn't feel any pain, and the rage of Robert attempting to kill her baby is still flowing through her.

The king watches her for a while before nodding once in respect and saying, "Well fought, Assassin. It seems God favors your cause this day."

She exhales and looks at him, nodding. Aches from the fight and fatigue from under preparation are making themselves known. She doesn't think that she can ride out tonight. She needs a night to rest and recover.

"I regret to ask this, your majesty," she says, trying to hide the pain in her voice, "but may we request one night's stay here with you? I do not… I cannot continue to Masyaf to talk to my master in this state, and it grows late. The children need to be changed, and they must be fed. My master and I have much to discuss, but I cannot neglect my children."

The king nods slowly. "I suppose that is fair, given your impressive fight. We will give your horses rest."

"Thank you, your highness. I cannot continue in this state."

King Richard nods. "I will have a tent raised for you and your children. Such… power must be difficult to maintain. I have never seen a person rip the partly severed head from a body."

She blinks, and her whole body jerks when Tazim wakes, reaching out to her, screaming and crying as he realizes that it is not Malik holding him. She's over to her child, cooing and cuddling. She hears King Richard order two men to set up a large tent as she shushes the baby, but she feels his eyes on her, watching, and she jerks up and looks for Turgay, who's still quaking where he was standing before, his sword still on the ground. She can feel her heart squeeze tightly, and she extends her arm, walking over and cupping the boy's cheek as she kisses his other cheek. She pulls him close, feeling his trembling as she shushes him. He presses his face into her neck, even though he's slightly taller than her, and wraps his arms around her, careful of the baby. She rubs his back, shushing him as Tazim watches with wide eyes.

"Oh, baby, Turgay, baby, everything is okay. No one will hurt you. I promise." She shushes him again when his shaking gets worse and she can hear him crying. She kisses his ear. "Oh, my baby, my baby. Calm down, Turgay. We'll rest tonight. You're okay. You're okay, and you fought so well against Robert. You're a brilliant fighter, Turgay. You did a wonderful job."

She shushes him, and a few minutes later she's been informed that the tent is set up.

She kisses his ear. "Let's go to the tent, Turgay. I have to change Tazim's mess, and you can tell me all about it, okay?"

The boy pulls back and nods as he rubs the tears from his eyes, nodding slightly. She looks at Shahin and gestures him over. The boy looks slightly jealous as he holds a squirmy Darim. She ruffles Shahin's hair and leans up to kiss his cheek.

"You both are wonderful boys. I couldn't ask for a better set of novices."

She sees a small smile through the cloth mask on Shahin's face, and she leads them to the tent, which is right next to King Richard's. She walks in, her head held high, and she makes sure that Shahin, Darim, and Tazim are all taken care off before turning to Turgay.

"Now, what happened that made you so upset?"

Before too long, she's kneeling in front of the boy, holding him in her arms as Tazim sleeps on a pad behind her, and Turgay is crying into her shoulder again. As she shushes him, she manages to pick out something from his past about being sold to the order as a young boy, and she realizes that he's never had a mother. She cuddles him until he cries himself asleep, her thoughts solely concentrated on making him feel better. She rubs his back and lets him use her robes as a tissue, and when he falls asleep, she sighs and tucks him in before turning to her other three. Shahin asks to go outside, and she lets him. It's getting dark out, and she'll call him back in a bit—after she tends to herself. She strips to her undergarments and pulls out her civilian's robes. She cleans herself, then tends to her wounds and bandages them, despite the fact that they're relatively shallow.

As she pulls on her robes, she hears King Richard stop outside her tent.

"Are you decent? May I come in to speak with you?"

She adjusts her robes. "Of course, your majesty, but I request you stay quiet. Turgay is asleep, and I think he needs it after today."

She hears him laugh as he pins back the flaps to the tent out of decency. She has Darim and Tazim fast asleep on one mat, Turgay on another. There's enough room for Shahin, and she will take the ground for her children. She gestures to the empty spot on the mat with her babies just large enough for a person to sit on.

"Thank you, your majesty, for giving us shelter for the night."

She ignores the feel of the soldiers watching from their bonfires, her candle burning brightly. She feels blessed that King Richard thought to give them a candle.

"I must admit that you impressed me, Assassin," he says as she kneels on the ground, looking at him. "It is not every day I get to see a such a strong woman."

Altaïr allows herself a smile, nodding. She feels exposed with her head uncovered and her hair short. "Thank you."

"It was a daring move of yourself to risk your children."

"I do not see it as such. The children were the only way I could get access to your camp, by making it look like I was a woman seeking shelter. I knew that you would not let two innocent children die should I not make it."

"You have faith in yourself."

"I have faith in your sense of faith."

King Richard blinks, then chuckles. "You are a strange woman."

"I have heard far worse than that."

"I must admit, though, you've made me curious. Tell me of your past. I wish to hear how you rose to such power and grace."

She shakes her head, looking at him. "It is a long tale."

"We are resting from war: there is enough time for a bit of gossip that I can indulge in to appease the women when I return. No doubt they will want something in return."

She nods and pleases the king, talking from start of her life to how she ended up here. She even tells him about her panic, her belief the children were from Allah, that everything has played an important role. By the time she's done, it's dark out, and Shahin has come back in. She gestures him over, and he smiles warmly, sitting by her and covering her hand with his when she rests it on his leg.

"Then I have to ask where your husband is. I'm sure he didn't just… agree to this," King Richard says with a low tone.

She chuckles. "He didn't know. He would have never let me take the babies, but I couldn't just leave them to a wet-nurse. I left him a note, telling him I would meet him at Masyaf, but I have a feeling by tomorrow he will be here, knowing the truth of where I am. He is an incredible husband, and I could not ask for better with how well he can read my mind."

"That is an impressive feat. I have tried to read women's minds before. It is not easy."

Altaïr laughs with the king, and Shahin lies down on the mats. She runs her knuckles lightly over his back, smiling softly at him when she looks and he's watching her from where his arms are under his "pillow" and his head is looking harder and harder to hold up. It doesn't take much longer before he's fast asleep, and she looks back to King Richard.

"I think it's time we sleep, your majesty. No doubt we will have a tough ride tomorrow to the castle, and I fear to imagine what will happen when I get there, given what I know now."

King Richard nods his head respectfully and rises. "Of course. I originally came in here to compliment you on your fighting today. I figured you would win against Robert. It was clear to see how God shone upon you."

She chuckles as King Richard pauses in the opening to the tent. "You and I both know it was God, or else that last surge of power would not have come."

The king pauses, staring out over the camp, then turns and looks at her, frowning. "I had often warned Robert never to mess with fire, and that a mother was beast to behold when her children are threatened. Having fought more in the heat of danger, I have seen such things when men terrorize a child. That is why I urged your apprentice to risk stepping out there. I knew, if anything, that the sight of your child, adopted or not, about to be killed would rouse strength in you again. But I was unprepared for just _how_ powerful you were."

She stares at him, frowning, and he gives her a partial bow.

"We will see you off tomorrow with provisions and fresh horses. If you give me your armor, I will have it fixed before you go."

The man starts to walk off, and she blinks.

"Thank you, your graciousness."

The king stops and laughs, pulling the flap open just slightly to smile at her. "As you said, your faith in my faith is astounding. I cannot let such a good woman go unprepared into battle with children to protect—no matter if she is a disgrace to the reputation of women to the society you live in. You are far above and beyond what anyone here would have expected. I could only wish that you were not married."

She jerks, slightly startled as the king leaves with a laugh, closing the flap.

Did King Richard… just _flirt_ with her?

She wonders why the king of the Christians would say something like that. She has no doubt that King Richard would remain loyal to his wife, but why would the king flirt with someone like her? She has two kids, two adopted kids, stretch marks on her stomach, and no dignity left as a woman. She is an assassin through and through. Is it her fight that makes her attractive to King Richard? Is it her drive? There must be something to make him attracted to a woman who kills for a living. Perhaps it is just a personality quirk. Or perhaps, even, it is the same reason why she knew the men stared at her chest back at the castle. All they have are men here, and a woman is like having an oasis in the desert. A little bit of pleasure for all the endless continuity around it.

Nevertheless, when Darim babbles something in her sleep, her attention is diverted into calming him down, and she kisses the baby's ear before lying on the ground and falling asleep quickly. She only wakes once to quiet Tazim as he cries.


	6. Chapter 6

She rises before her children, pulling off the civilian woman's clothes to change into the men's clothing she found outside the tent. She can't help but wonder just what will happen at Masyaf, what conversation lies in store. Will there be a final fight between her and Al Mualim? It's clear she cannot let him continue running this order, or else her children will be taken from her. It's also clear that she has been betrayed by her master, conned into eliminating his problems to hog the toy she, Malik, and Kadar were sent to fetch. These children have done more to lift the blinders from her over the targets she has killed.

She has to protect her children.

Al Mualim will have to die.

He will die by her hand.

There is no regret in her mind, no hesitancy. Al Mualim long since stopped being a father figure. She pulls on her shirt, glancing at the boys still sleeping on the mats. The men's clothing is huge, and it probably came from the king, given how fine it is. She uses the length of rope to tie the pants to fit as the tent flap goes flying open.

She looks to see Malik standing there wide-eyed. She blinks, then gives him a soft look and holds a finger to her lips. She hugs him back when she feels herself be lifted from the ground in a tight, one-armed hug. When she's set down, she cups Malik's head in her hands and pulls him in for a kiss. Malik has no reservations about making it deep and passionate, it seems, and by the time he's pulling his tongue from her mouth, she's flat out of breath.

"You fool!" Malik hisses quietly. "Running off with the children to fight! What if you had died?"

She snorts, wrapping her arms around his neck while his hand comes to rest around her waist. "You and I both know it would not have happened."

Malik's eyes narrow. "You are in a camp full of men. The only woman among them, and not just a woman, but a well-figured woman. What if they had tried something? What if they had touched you?"

"Would you cast me to the side if they had?"

"Of course not—"

"Then I see not why it matters, Malik. I would never willingly cheat on you. It was your children I bore, and it is your side I will always return to."

She hums when he goes to respond, cutting him off with a kiss. She is not wearing the cloth to bind her breasts, finding it too much of a hassle since her children feed from her body, and she knows that Malik enjoys it, his hand traveling up her back under the loose tunic.

"It reeks of a man's scent," Malik murmurs when she pulls back and he tugs on the shirt, and Altaïr rolls her eyes.

"It is the king's, I would assume, from the fine tailoring."

Malik frowns, and Altaïr snorts, slapping his chest.

"Stop acting jealous. My mind, body, and soul belong to you and you alone."

"Still, to be given—"

"Assassin, is everything okay in there?"

She looks at the entrance of the tent. She knows it's King Richard out there.

"Everything is fine, your majesty."

"Who was it who came running into your tent? I have heard rumors of a crazed, one-armed man."

"It is her husband," Malik snaps as he whirls around to face the tent entrance, and Altaïr frowns.

"You may enter, if you wish, your highness. My husband is a good man. If not best described by your soldiers' rumors."

She hears a snort, and then the tent flap is opened and pinned back as King Richard stands near the entrance. He gives the man a thorough once-over, as if appraising him in terms of worthiness, and she can see every line in Malik's back go tense. She sits by her babies, her legs bent under her, and shakes her head. She could never understand the flash and show, the continual fighting among the men. It was enough for her to know that she could beat them and that she was better. She did not need to posture and strut like an animal.

When Shahin stirs, she ignores the two men still sizing each other up and rubs his back gently, murmuring a soft good morning to him as his hand comes up and curls against her knee. He's not awake, not yet, and she can almost imagine the sleepiness in his eyes as he takes a moment to start the process of waking.

"Your wife is a strong woman. You are a fortunate man to have her."

"Indeed, and she is lucky to have me, having been her only companion for fifteen years."

The threat is subtle, but Altaïr catches it. Shahin yawns, and she looks at the two men.

"One of you two should put yourselves to good use and make sure these boys are fed before we hit the road. I want all of you out of this tent while I feed the twins," she quips, giving them both a stern stare.

Shahin wiggles his nose before sneezing, effectively scaring and waking himself as Turgay mutters something, rubbing his eyes. She ushers them out shortly after the boys wake up, leaving her alone in the tent with the twins. Darim's eyes are wide open, as they have been since Malik arrived, and he's staring straight at her. She smiles and coos at him after picking him up, chuckling when he talks back, and when she lifts up her shirt to feed, he shrieks with delight, as if feeding was just a treat he had forgotten about. She talks to him as he feeds, and his eyes are concentrated on her as his hands rest on her breast while he suckles. Occasionally, he tries to talk back, spilling milk down his chin and giggling when she wipes it up.

When he's done, she rises, pulling her shirt down and opening the flap to call for Malik. Shahin is sitting by the entrance, and she blinks. He jerks in surprise at her opening the flap, but she nods. Shahin will do just as well to take care of the squirmy child. Darim shrieks at the sight of the novice, earning a tender smile from them both, and he holds out his arms.

"Will you tend to him while I wake Tazim?"

Shahin nods as she passes the child to him. She kisses his head and goes back in at the sound of Tazim crying. She takes her time feeding him, eventually finishing as Tazim yawns and falls back asleep. The child sleeps so much, and it's a welcome relief from Darim's squirmy demeanor. She steps out of the tent, noticing the men a ways off, all of them gathered in a ring-like formation. Shahin is still sitting by the tent, playing with Darim and chuckling as he giggles and screams with glee. The boy looks up at her.

"You'll be a great father someday," she says. "What are the men doing?"

"Fighting. Sword fights, I believe, Turgay challenged the King, and Malik egged them on."

She blinks, then sighs. What a… manly thing to do. She heads over to the ring, feeling Shahin behind her as the crowd parts for them. Tazim is still asleep, even with all the noise, and when she gets to the opening, she can't help but laugh.

King Richard has his sword in hand, swinging it by his side in a lazy demeanor, and Turgay has his drawn in a playful stance.

"Have at thee!" Turgay cries, and a few half-hearted swings of the sword later, they're back to their playful stances.

"Is that all you have, boy?" the king says. "No wonder Robert had no problem!"

Turgay snorts, grinning in tandem with King Richard because they both know that he gave Robert a run for his money with his defense. "That is hardly all, old man!"

She watches them swing their swords around like actors in a play, and King Richard gives him a hardy laugh before parrying his swing.

"That's 'your majesty' to you!"

"Ha! Only when my sword falls from my hand!"

The king gives him a laugh, and they swing their swords some more. Eventually, Turgay notices her, and she waves, smirking. The boy waves back, and in a flashy show of sword, King Richard disarms him, earning a scowl from her novice.

"Now then, it's 'your majesty.'"

"I will never surrender!" the boy yowls theatrically, and the men surrounding them laugh.

She shakes her head, adjusting Tazim as Malik comes over and stands beside her. She looks at her man and leans in for a kiss when he does. She can feel Shahin stand by her other side, and the look on Malik's face is reassuring that he might be over the jealousy he felt—for whatever reason. His arm slips around her waist, and she leans against her husband, watching as King Richard laughs loudly and knocks the boy off his feet. She jerks when Turgay lands with a thud and an "oof!" then tries to scramble away.

Only to be stopped by a large boot on his chest. Turgay growls, looking up at the king, who plants the sword in the ground by his neck.

"I said, 'That's "your majesty" to you!'"

Turgay growls, and Altaïr snorts. The boy jerks, bringing his feet up and grappling briefly with the king. King Richard takes it all in good stride, eventually pinning the boy to the ground and smirking. Turgay growls, and the elder snorts.

"There is a reason you still wear those novice grays unlike your mother, boy."

Turgay bites his hand, earning a laugh as the king gets up.

"Our match is done," he proclaims.

Her novice sits up, sulking.

"Would you rather lick my boots? Or give me my deserved title?"

Turgay deflates where he sits, and he sends one final glare at the king. "Fine… old man!"

Turgay goes scrambling off before King Richard can register what he said, and Altaïr blinks as her novice comes running over, laughing as he pops behind her and hugs her waist, hunching down. King Richard purses his lips before frowning.

"Ah-ha. You call in the one thing I could never beat: a mother." King Richard shakes his head. "I concede defeat: you have won."

She snorts. "Your majesty, all you have to do is say so, and I will step aside. Even fledgling eaglets must learn to fight and hunt."

Turgay yelps. "D-don't do that to me! You said all assassins use their resources! I'm using my resources!"

Altaïr chuckles, adjusting Tazim. "Very well then. We should probably head out."

"You haven't eaten yet, Altaïr," Malik says, and she looks at him and breathes deep.

She hums. She doesn't actually want to leave the camp. She has enjoyed the companionship of King Richard, the playfulness of the men who know what it is to relax. Of course, she cannot let injustice go on for long. Al Mualim must be confronted. She sighs.

"I will eat on the road. I know that I cannot sustain myself and the children for long without it. Do not worry, Malik."

Her husband nods, and King Richard cleans his sword out of habit as he tells them to fetch her some food. She wolfs it down as the boys get ready, helping the men pack some provisions and supplies. Darim, meanwhile, has taken to pushing off with his feet, trying to follow everyone at once. He looks like he wants to be everywhere he isn't, and he screams with delight when Altaïr stops eating the food, placing a hand on his back. Malik is holding Tazim, who is fast asleep. Shahin and Turgay are practicing their sword-fighting with some of the men, receiving a few pointers. Altaïr watches them for a while.

She doesn't know when it happened, and she doesn't know how. She's fallen in love with the two boys. They've wormed their ways into her heart, and all she can do is watch as they become a permanent part of her family. It's funny to think about how just a year ago, she didn't need anyone, and now here she is, with Malik by her side as her husband and two young novices a deeply ingrained as her sons. She wonders if the rest of the order will become like this, if she'll want to take them all under her wing, if her and Malik can run it when Al Mualim is dead. Surely it can't be too hard: she'll follow her instincts and make her husband live up to the title of Mentor.

She feels Malik's arm wrap around her waist, and she looks. Tazim is lying by his brother, and his brother is babbling excitedly to him as he keeps trying to push himself forward. Tazim watches him, watches his movements, and watches his parents as she cuddles against her husband's side and watches everything around her. Altaïr meets his gaze and smiles, and Tazim blinks once before a tiny smile appears on his face. She's convinced: her children are going to be the best.

King Richard comes over and bows. "May I join you?"

"You don't have to ask, your majesty," Altaïr says, even though she can feel Malik's grip tighten.

The man laughs as he sits, watching the two babies squirm and talk.

"You have quite the active family," he says.

"Tazim isn't usually this active," Malik murmurs as he rubs her side.

Altaïr snorts. "He usually isn't awake for more than a few hours at a time."

"Ah… I'm sure it will change," King Richard says. "Seldom do things ever turn out the way they're expected."

Altaïr nods, watching as Darim talks Tazim into rolling on his stomach and pushing off with him as well. The boy is much more hesitant about it than his twin. She places a hand on Malik's thigh. It surprises her how well she's adjusted to the contact and the intimacy that Malik seems to favor. She laughs as Darim notices the king and screams happily, wiggling and squirming until he's facing the man. Tazim has given up on wiggling and looks uncomfortable on his stomach. Before she can think to pick him up, King Richard has the baby, and Tazim yawns, watching his brother sleepily from the big man's arms.

"I will admit, assassins, that you could not have come at a better time."

Both she and Malik look at him as King Richard holds the child in one hand as easily as she could pick up an apple. Tazim looks tiny in the man's arm, fast asleep. The man is watching his men goof around with Turgay and Shahin.

"My men were beginning to give up on the crusades."

"They are a foolish waste of time, if you ask me. You are wasting men and time," Altaïr says with a frown as King Richard laughs. "But, I do not believe quite so strongly in God, or will I ever. That is the difference in the paths we trek."

"Ah, but you have not given up on God yet?" the man asks, giving her a thoroughly amused look.

"I don't know if I ever could," she says with a dry smirk. "It makes things easier to have someone to blame things on."

King Richard laughs, and Altaïr shakes her head.

"Our presence renewed their desire for the crusades?"

The man smiles warmly at her. "Indeed. The presence of a family, a woman with her husband and children, has reminded them that they have a lot to gain from this, if not just heroic war stories and souvenirs."

"It seems like a pointless waste of lives," Altaïr says, "but, I am an assassin. I live for the shadows. The whole concept of pointless war like this, of lining up for a charge, does not make sense with me."

"There are times fighting like an assassin would make me happier," the king says as he caresses Tazim's cheek when he wakes, looking over at his mother.

Altaïr smiles at the baby, and the boy seems to take it as an okay that King Richard is not going to take him away from her. There's silence for a little bit before the king looks at her.

"I have one request before you go."

Altaïr meets his gaze.

"I do not know how much you have sung, but it would put many men at ease to hear a woman's voice again during our sermon tonight. We can provide a third mat for you and your husband, if you wish."

She frowns and opens her mouth to speak, but Malik beats her to it.

"If Altaïr does not mind singing, I think we will have the time. Altaïr is important to our Master, and he will wait for her, as he has done most of her life."

Altaïr punches his thigh and glares at him. Malik just snorts. She looks back at King Richard and gives him a level stare.

"I have not sung before."

"You do not have to, but I think the men may hear your voice and be reminded of their families back home."

She looks back out at her boys and watches them goof around with the other soldiers. They're all just giant children, really, and some of the men in the ranks look as young as her novices. They should still be at home with their families. She's never sung to her children, although Malik has occasionally. She's certain that Malik could put her to shame. She's never had faith in her singing voice—especially when she got caught singing to Kadar when he was a toddler. Al Mualim had been patient and kind, although the threat was there, and she had stopped singing shortly after that, afraid of what would happen if someone else had caught her singing to a young boy.

"You should give it a try. I'm sure the babies would like it, even if you sound like a cat yowling in the night."

She glares at him from the side of her vision and stares down at Darim, who's busy entertaining three soldiers that came over. She hadn't noticed them, but Darim is busy babbling away, bouncing on his stomach in an attempt to get those extra few inches toward them. Perhaps she could. It couldn't hurt to stay one more night here, and there was no telling what would happen at Masyaf. She could lend herself one more night.

"I suppose so."

King Richard chuckles. "Thank you."

She nods. "It is no problem, your majesty. I don't know any songs that would fit into a Christian sermon."

The man grins. "That is not a problem at all! Mathias, come over here!"

She looks when a gruff older man comes walking over, and she's led off to the others in the choir. The small number of men is nothing more than a rag-tag bunch of soldiers, but they're all warm and welcoming. They don't laugh when it takes her a while to find her voice, and they tease her light-heartedly when she can't reach the notes that some of their less-fortunate men can.

Still, sitting through a sermon for the Christians is the most incredibly boring thing she's ever done as she waits for the end. There are some words she doesn't know in French in the sermon, and by the time she actually has to sing, both Darim and Tazim are asleep, and Turgay and Shahin are antsy. Nevertheless, they all manage to make it to the end of the sermon, where she's invited up to sing.

It's a relatively short song, but haunting, and the gruff man, for all his battle scars and frightening demeanor, said that it might be best for her.

Still, as she looks over the men sitting there, waiting, as the "priest" steps aside and she takes center stage, she can't help but feel a sort of pity for the men. They fight a war against insurmountable odds, goaded into it by the men they idolize.

Ironically, they sound like her.

The music the man chose, as she opens her mouth and lets the words come out, is haunting. It isn't high-pitched; it isn't beautiful, but it is haunting. It is almost depressing, as if they are all just another cog to God, as if God doesn't care, and they just have to suffer the fate that God had laid out. It's a ridiculous song, but it's pretty, and she likes it. That's more than she could hope for. She doesn't notice the men's stares, too wrapped up in the song, but she hopes that they at least like it, and that she wasn't lured into making a fool of herself.

Still, she eventually opens her eyes and gazes out over the men. They're all fighting sleep, and some of them are fast asleep, their eyes closed as they drool on their companion's shoulder. Turgay, Shahin, and the babies are gone, but their tent has a light flickering in it, and she assumes they're all asleep. Malik is smiling softly watching her, and she smiles back. As she wraps up the song, there are only a few men still awake, watching. Even King Richard, who was talking with her husband, yawns, and Malik snorts, earning him an elbow in the ribs before the two of them are chattering again.

These boys need to learn to sleep, she muses, or else they will never win the crusades.

She lets the last note linger and smiles, amused, at the men. She shakes her head softly, turning to bow politely at the priest, who has some trouble getting up to dismiss the men—most of them who are roused by their companions and stumble back to the tents to sleep. She meets Malik and King Richard off to the side, and King Richard wraps an arm around her shoulders, fighting a yawn as he laughs.

"Thank you, Altaïr, for the song. I'm sure my men will be well-rested for tomorrow."

She snorts. "Was it truly so boring as to put them to sleep?"

"Well, given the length of the sermon," Malik begins, slipping his arm around her waist as King Richard drops his arm and paces alongside them, "I'm willing to bet that your voice just lulled them to sleep. It is not unpleasant, Altaïr."

She hums, watching the men slowly make their way to their tents.

"And it got us out of the final prayer," King Richard says with a laugh. "That's the one thing I thought that I could escape when I left, but again, I was wrong!"

She shakes her head again, leaning into her husband. The king wishes them good night as they part ways to go to their tents, and as her and Malik enter the tent, she finds herself kissing him. Altaïr doesn't know who initiated the kiss, or how the kiss got started, but the feeling of his lips against hers is something she shouldn't have trouble remembering. She presses up into the kiss, feeling him tease the scar on her lips. She cups the back of his head to press him closer before wrapping her arms around his neck. She exhales softly as his tongue presses into her mouth—

And they hear a cough behind them.

She turns to see Shahin sitting on the mat with Turgay, the two of them playing a game with sticks and stones from the bureau. Turgay isn't looking at them, a faint blush on his cheeks, and Shahin is staring at them with a hard look. Altaïr snorts and pulls from Malik's hold.

"Shouldn't you two be asleep? We set out tomorrow."

"We wanted to stay awake to compliment you on your singing," Turgay says sheepishly.

"But we didn't think you two would start kissing as soon as you stepped in the tent," Shahin finishes.

She snorts, pacing over to the third mat between her babies and her sons.

"Very well, we'll stop. But get ready for bed, you two."

She puts them to bed, despite their protests, and then yawns as she lets her eyes adjust after blowing out the candle. The fires are out outside, and the moon is new, the stars offer a small comfort under thick canvas. When she can finally see again, she notices that Malik is already lying down in just his pants, staring at her. She smirks at him, and he quirks an eyebrow. She's still in just the king's clothes, already ready for bed.

She sits down beside him, and her gaze softens when he places his hand on her thigh and squeezes lightly. She watches Turgay and Shahin until she's sure they're asleep and then lies beside her husband. Malik rolls on his side and presses against her, and she can feel his heartbeat against her back. It makes her want him, feeling him against her, and she's not entirely sure where the wave of lust comes from, but she figures she'll let Malik know.

"When we finish with Al Mualim and settle into our own room," she mutters, her voice hardly above a breath, "I am going to ride you so hard you will feel it for weeks after."

Malik stifles his laugh by nipping at her shoulder. "I will look forward to it."

She smirks, looking over her shoulder to meet that challenging gaze as his arm settles under her breasts and tightens his hold. "You doubt me?"

"Not in the slightest."

"That is all very well, then," she says, "because I swear by it."

"But we will have to take precautions to make sure you do not have another child."

She snorts. "Yes… I think it is far too early to consider more children."

"The five I have now are—"

She kicks his shin, earning a grunt, and then rolls over to face him. They glare at each other before she remembers one other time. This is just like when they had their first mission together. Al Mualim had been against it, but Malik had been the only assassin he trusted with her. They had been on the road, travelling back from a successful mission, and they had taken up residence in an abandoned house for the night. The night was cold, and they had agreed to sleep side-by-side to conserve warmth. Of course, Malik had made a sexist comment, and she had kicked him, and he had retaliated.

She had eventually thrown him out of the house in just his undergarments, and the guards had seen. They had laughed at him, urging him to go in and teach her a lesson. When they had gone into the house to teach her the lesson for him, she had attacked with a torch and the small metal cauldron they had found. They had fled that night with no clothes and no dignity. When Malik came creeping back in, he was laughing at the sight of the six guards running off without clothes, and she had been laughing as well.

It's clear Malik is remembering it as well, if the amused look on his face is anything to go by.

"Let's hope it does not end up like that night."

She nods, snorting and closing her eyes, relaxing into his embrace. "Indeed. Now shut up and let me sleep, you unwieldy child."

"Me the child? I think not."

"I think so."

Malik snorts. "You are a bigger child than I."

"I don't care. Shut up and go to sleep."

"You have not changed at all."

"We have not changed at all. Now—"

"Fine. I will shut up and sleep. You do not have to tell me twice."

"I already have."

Malik growls, and she snorts. Regardless, she falls asleep shortly after.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day finds her kissing King Richard's cheeks farewell as she adjusts Darim around her chest. She promises to write the man, and he tells her he'll write her first, since Robert had a bird specifically trained for Masyaf. She quirks an eyebrow at that, but Malik shushes his horse as Tazim settles down in his carrier against him, and she knows she needs to get moving. Turgay and Shahin are eager to get back to the castle, and as they ride, they're joined by more men, all of who look as if they've fought for a life. Malik introduces them as "his men."

Travel is slow, and when Masyaf looms in the distance, she gets the feeling that something is wrong. It's deep seeded, and she can't shake it. As they ride, still a half-a-day away from the castle, she stops the horses, despite the stop not too long ago to change Darim and Tazim.

"Malik," she mutters, despite the irritated grumbles from Malik's men and the antsy antics of her novices. "Something's not right."

Her novices have come up beside her on their horses, and the horses are acting funny, too. She swallows nervously, frowning as she calms her horse. Malik looks at her, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"Something isn't right. I can feel it. We shouldn't take the babies into Masyaf."

"What do you mean? What nonsense is this?"

"Malik, there's something wrong here. I only want people I know can survive. That means leaving the novices here with the babies, and a couple of your men to protect them. Something's not right."

She couldn't explain it, but she knew something was wrong. Every bone in her body was telling her not to take the children in there. It was an aura, a cloud, something that was settling within her. She couldn't take her children there. There's something wrong, and it's crawling through her veins and making her blood run cold.

"Then what do you suggest, Altaïr?" Malik asks.

She pauses, looking at the castle. "I want you to stay with the novices and the babies. I'll take your men, and we'll see what's wrong."

"No, I'm coming with you."

"I want at least two of your men, then, staying with the novices just in case everything goes wrong."

Malik grits his teeth but quickly chooses some men to stay behind, and they grumble and complain as they set up a makeshift camp. She then gives the babies to Turgay and Shahin, slings her leg over the horse properly, and takes off down the path with her husband and the men behind her. It's refreshing, she thinks, as the wind whips around her face, tugging her hood down as the adrenaline courses through her veins, building rapidly as the castle comes closer in her view. The horses rear when she pulls them to a stop outside the gates, running up the hill with her short sword in hand. Malik is behind her with his sword, and the men are quickly fanning out. She can see the other assassins jump down to attack, and she simply maneuvers out of the way, leaving the others to take care of them as she slips into the castle with Malik. The courtyard is filled with the villagers, and all of them seem to be in a trance. She slaps them gently and snaps her fingers, but nothing seems to work. They all seem to be staring up at something hidden, and she frowns. She did well to keep her children behind. She wanders into the castle, holding Malik's hand as they pass by a dozen or so people stuck in the trance, staring at something above them.

"I will try to see what they are staring at, if there is a way to break the trance," Malik murmurs. "You see if you cannot find Al Mualim and get answers."

She nods, watching him head up the staircases before turning and walking into the garden. The entire place feels different. The women are not there, and she feels as if it's covered in fog purposely to obscure her senses. She feels slightly disoriented, but she grits her teeth as she continues to look around. She slinks along the sides, fighting the fog that threatens to overtake her. When she doesn't see anything, Altaïr finds her way back up to top, crossing the center.

She snarls when she feels herself paralyzed.

"What is this? What's going on?"

"Ah, so the student returns!"

She looks up to see Al Mualim holding that damn treasure she had been sent to fetch and almost failed if not for her husband.

"I have never been one to run!" she shouts.

"I feared you may have. You have been gone for over a year now, did you realize?"

"I do realize that—let me go!"

"Oh, Altair! I hear the hatred in your voice, feel its heat. Let you go? That would be unwise."

"So you use dirty tactics to restrain me. Why do you do this?"

"I have found proof!"

"Proof of what?" she snarls.

"That nothing is true, and everything is permitted!"

She snarls, tugging at the golden power restraining her.

"Come! Destroy the betrayer! Send her from this world!"

The binds are gone, and she watches as her marks appear from nowhere. She snarls again, ripping through them easier than before. Her eyes narrow as she watches the last one vanish. Something is wrong here. If her master wanted her dead, why would he have given her the chance to fight? She straightens, her lips twitching into a smirk before she is seized by the golden restraints again.

"Face me! Or are you afraid to be beaten by a woman?"

"I have stood before a thousand men! All of them superior to you! And all of them dead-by my hand! I am not afraid!"

She snorts at him as he materializes in front of her.

"Prove it," she growls.

"What could I possibly fear? Look at the power I command!"

She watches as more clones of Al Mualim appear, and as soon as she gets the chance, she is upon them, tearing through them with a fury to protect her children. She doesn't want to let him get a hold of them, of her husband, and how is Malik holding out? When she goes to attack her master, she's seized again, a snarling, howling mess. Her children are on the outskirts of Masyaf. They will be taken and turned into mindless drones if she cannot kill him. With all this power he commands, there must be some reason he hasn't yet killed her. Her children will live and be strong. She must fight to protect them.

"Have you any final words?"

She snarls and spits at him. "You lied to me! Called Robert's goal foul when all along it was yours as well! Let me down! I will fight and kill you!"

"I've never been much good at sharing."

"You will never win! Even if I am to die, others will find the strength to stand against you!"

"And this is why so long as men maintain free will, there can be no peace."

"I killed the last man who spoke as such," she hisses.

"Bold words, child, but just words!"

"Then let me go, and I will put words into action. Tell me, 'Master...' why did you not make me like the other Assassins? Why allow me to retain my mind, to fight?"

"Who you are and what you do are twined too tight together. To rob you of one would have deprived me of the other. And those Templars had to die, but I was much too busy and far too lazy to do it myself. Even now, I still need your power. I cannot hope for anything other than you seeing the truth and following me willingly. But the truth is I did try to turn you in my study when I showed you the treasure. But you are not like the others. You saw through the illusion."

"Illusion?"

"That's all it's ever done, this Templar treasure, this Piece of Eden, this word of God. Do you understand now? The Red Sea was never parted, water never turned to wine. It was not the machinations of Ares that spawned the Trojan War, but this! Illusions! All of them!"

"You speak madness to have such a lack of faith in mankind and in God. What you plan is no less an illusion-to force men to follow you against their will!"

"Is it any less real than the phantoms the Saracens and Crusaders follow now? Those... craven gods who retreat from this world that men might slaughter one another in their names? They live amongst an illusion already. I'm simply giving them another, one that demands less blood."

"Their 'craven gods' are one and the same. They fight for their belief, as all men strut and preen. It is a man's way. You do not see women in charge, do you? If we were to rule, there would be no bloodshed. Men wish to fight, wish to prove themselves the best. It is they who choose bloodshed. Let a woman rule, and there will not be that. Besides, at least they choose these phantoms."

"Oh do they? Aside from the occasional convert or heretic?"

"It isn't right."

"Ahh. And now logic has left you. In its place you embrace emotion. I am disappointed."

"Then let me go, and I will fight you with the spirit of the emotion that you so respectively hate."

"I did not say that I hate you."

"I did not accuse you of hating me. I accused you of hating emotion."

"That is the weakness of a woman," Al Mualim mutters, shaking his head. "I thought you had overcome this."

"I have gained it back to give me the power I need. Now release me and fight, pig-headed old man!" she shouts, struggling again.

Al Mualim laughs, and she growls at him.

"Very well, I will grant you your one last wish."

When she's released, she can feel the fires of God filling her, wondering momentarily if King Richard was praying for her safety. Any god would listen a man like him if he requested something. She doesn't hear what he says as she chases him all over the garden, screaming like a banshee. If she can't kill him, her children will die. Turgay and Shahin will be killed for helping her, a traitor, and Darim and Tazim will be murdered. When that thought crosses her mind, she feels as if she's been possessed by rage.

She wakes up as Al Mualim dies, the Apple rolling from his grip during that out of body experience. All time has stopped, and she is alone, sitting at with her master's head in her lap, running her fingers through his hair to comfort him in his last moments. Regardless of if he's corrupt or not, she owes him much.

"That is impossible! The student does not beat the teacher!"

"The student does not give birth and befriend men who walk with God alone," she murmurs, feeling her anger trickle out.

"Birth? You have given birth?" Al Mualim cries. "When did this happen?"

She chuckles, running her fingers over his cheek. "Three months ago. I have two healthy boys who simultaneously take from my body and give me strength, and two novices who have helped me and Malik raise them."

"Malik? They are Malik's? I am not surprised. I knew that something was bound to happen between you. That is why I sent you on that mission to Solomon's Temple when I did."

She blinks, then looks him in the eye. "What?"

"I knew that was lust between you. I had seen it: I have felt it from Malik's point of view, the bubbling lust that grows from being around a woman that you love."

She takes the man's hand from his stomach, pressing a kiss to his fingers. "It is this love that has been your undoing, then, it seems. For I had slept with him, and that weight that we were excited about, that growth in my chest, they were all signs of pregnancy."

"I have been a fool."

She cradles her cheek with his palm, feeling what little strength he has left being put to caressing her skin. The calluses are soft, and although the skin is thick, it is a comfort to feel him touch her one last time. He will always be her father, the one who took her in when she was left to die.

"It does not help that you played with fire, either."

Al Mualim snorts, and she can feel the out of body feeling beginning to grow weaker as she presses a little harder into his hand.

"This man that you said you befriended, who walks with God alone and deludes himself into thinking as such—"

"It is King Richard, and we both realize that there is God after death, one who will judge the souls of the dead. For as you said, the Apple creates illusions, and anything it has shown you of the afterlife is just an illusion."

Al Mualim is quiet for a moment, and she kisses his palm. Despite their horrible ending, she will miss him. She hears her master chuckle quietly, letting go of her cheek in favor of looking at her. She runs her hands over his cheek, despite the beard, feeling sad that he's about to die.

"Your words make me fear for my soul, and I simply wish he does not judge me too harshly for the insanity I invited into my life."

"I will look forward to seeing you in the afterlife, master."

Al Mualim chuckles as he begins to fade. "Ah, but you have proven that you are stronger. It is you who wears that mantle now, child. Use it well, and resist the temptation I have so willingly bitten from."

She smiles as the world around her begins to reform. "I will, and I will make sure that you are remembered for your whole life, not just the end."

She rises from him as the world comes crashing back down onto her and dusts off her robes. She will miss him, if not least for the support and love he had given her, the favoritism he had shown her when things got too much. Her eyes come to rest on something glowing from the Apple, and she frowns.

"Thank you," she hears in her ear, in Al Mualim's voice, and she smiles, stepping over to the treasure. "But you must destroy it."

She doesn't hear Malik enter as she reaches up, amazed when her fingers go through the floating image.

"No," she says. "I will not. I will keep it and use it as an example. Men cannot learn by stories alone. We must repeat mistakes if we are to learn. Words do not penetrate the skulls of men. Injuries, beatings, and lashings do."

The voice is silent, and she momentarily thinks that this will be perfect for entertaining her kids if she can figure out how to make it work. She blinks, mesmerized by the image, and it takes a while before she can straighten up, brush off her robes, and scoop up the treasure. The image disappears, and she slips it into a pouch, feeling a pleasant hum throughout her as she holds it close.

She looks around and sees Malik standing there, staring at her with a frown.

"He is dead?"

"He is dead. We are safe."

"Hardly, there is chaos in the village."

She frowns. "Then we must contain it now."

She chases down the assassins, having them herd the villagers into the courtyard to be placated and reassured. Turgay and Shahin come in with her children as she speaks to villagers and assassins alike, and she takes Tazim from the boys, Darim going to Malik.


	8. Chapter 8

It's almost two months later before everything has settled down. The treasure lies forgotten in her and Malik's study, hidden and out of reach. The transition has been relatively smooth, and after calming down the villagers, there was little damage that had to be repaired. She has reorganized the assassins, the duties, the training, and she has invited women into the order with open arms. Several of the men have already wed, and she watches with pleasure as the women are treated kindly. They are not equals. They cannot fight as well: they do not wish to fight. Still, they learn self-defense and recognize that here, in the castle, their voices are heard and they are to be respected.

She has been casually buying up the dowries of women around the country with little to their name and no hope for the future. She gives them the castle as their safe haven from society's blinders, the garden as their safe haven away from the men, although the men are allowed, and gives them their time to gossip and bond with others of the same gender, something she had never done. They train separately, under Rauf's careful eye, leaving another to take over training the men. The women are pampered, and she knows that they will provide for her entertainment when the novices begin to discover that they are allowed to marry with the woman's consent. There are already at least five women there, young girls who's fathers were abusive and disgusting, who were orphaned or forced to beg, or mothers with children who are ill. She can't help but chuckle at the sheepish peeking of the young novices, too shy to talk to them and too nervous to try.

She has also implemented swimming lessons for all novices, making them mandatory and forcing them to pass a swimming test if they wish to reach the rank of a master assassin. They were not mandatory before, in the middle of the desert, but with the lake at the bottom of the castle, it is best to put it to good use. She knows the tunnels to the lake's edge as well as every other curious novice with some extra time on their hands. Unfortunately for them, few assassins can swim well enough to teach.

Fortunately for her, Abbas is one of them. She knows of the unbridled hatred the man bares, and she does not begrudge him. Still, the idea of a promotion and being put in charge of all swimming lessons seems to have lessened it. Eating meals with him and asking about the novices' progress puts her on his level, and he seems to be getting some sort of pleasure out of eating with her. It is usually just the two of them, Malik's undue jealousy and hatred making the air tense when they are together.

Of course, she has also heard from King Richard, talking with him over letters and reading about the crusades. The men are eager to return but also eager to win, and she offers them shelter if he needs it.

She watches, amused, from the doorway four months after the death of Al Mualim, as Turgay has taken the lead of the band of novices and approached one of the girls. She has a homely look, not too pretty, but still young and fresh-faced. Nothing like the women from the illusions Al Mualim created. He's chattering away, making her laugh and giggle while all of the other novices watch from windows or shadows. She can tell he's nervous from the jittery fluttering of his hands, the occasional awkward squirm he makes as he tries to impress her. She feels something brush by her leg, and she looks down.

Only to see Darim rolling along, making noise the whole way.

She jerks when he runs into a bush, but laughs when she sees him stop, straighten up, shake his head, and shriek merrily at her. He looks around, spying his target, and tucks his legs back up under him and starts rolling. She jerks forward, stopped by a voice, which she checks to see Malik standing there.

"Let the boy go to his brother."

Tazim is in her husband's arm, watching cautiously. She looks back to where Darim has started rolling down the ramp, screaming happily and catching Turgay's attention. The boy jumps, panicking, and rushes over, missing him just barely as the boy runs into a column with an "oof!"

The baby notices his older brother and screams happily, holding his arms up and demanding to be held, and the novice scoops him up, blushing mildly. Darim latches onto the boy, babbling merrily at the sight of the young girl, and Altaïr looks at Malik, frowning.

"What if he hurts himself?"

Malik rolls his eyes, leaning in for a kiss. "He is a boy and the child of our union. I think you do not have to worry."

She harrumphs, placing a kiss on Tazim's head after kissing Malik softly as the baby sucks on his fingers. "I am a mother. I have to worry. When did he start rolling?"

Malik shrugs, and she frowns. "I do not know, but he demanded to be put down and off he rolled, so I let him. He is certainly an active baby."

She snorts and runs a hand through her boy's hair. "That boy will roll off a cliff."

"Not if Turgay is there to catch him."

She hums and wraps her arms around him. The castle is quiet, and it's a breath of fresh air from all the chaos of the past few months. She turns her head to see Turgay blushing madly as more of the girls come over, cooing and praising him for being such a good brother to Darim. Darim, however, diverts their attentions with his eager-to-entertain cries, leaving Turgay to deflate as the young lady he was trying to woo is won over by the baby in his arms. She chuckles and then smiles softly at the big smile Tazim has in watching his brother.

She eventually gets called off to handle some sort of dispute between two journeymen, and she ends up putting them both on latrine duty for a week instead of the poor men she had hired for that purpose. Neither one of them seem pleased, but the argument was so stupid that she didn't even bother to listen to everything. She retreats to the office after that to figure out if she needs to pay the cleaning men or not during that week, and Malik is already there, Tazim off playing with Shahin as she sits in his lap.

Eventually, Darim gets carried up to be fed, and she's surprised to see him reach for the bowl of hummus on her desk that she was snacking from with bread. Turgay laughs and leans over slightly, letting him dip his hand in. Malik scowls when the baby grabs a handful and smooshs it against his mouth, but Altaïr simply watches. Turgay is laughing as he sets the baby down on her desk, holding the boy gently as he plays with the hummus, and Darim screams happily as he plays with it, making a mess but still eating a little. When he's finally finished spreading food all over the place, he reaches for Altaïr, demanding to be breastfed the rest of the way full. Still, the boy didn't blanch or cry at the taste of the hummus, even with the trace of pepper in it and the lack of salt, so she takes it as a sign that the boy is almost done breastfeeding. He's grown so quickly in the past few months.

She shakes her head, smiling as Turgay cleans him with a rag before handing him over. She is sitting in Malik's lap, and she feels him press a kiss to her ear as she has Turgay close the entrance to the office they work from. Darim babbles happily as she lifts her shirt, looking around at the gathering of the three older people he's come to identify so well.

"And Tazim?" she murmurs.

"Amused by Shahin and the other novices still. He'll probably be up here shortly," Turgay says, rolling on the balls of his feet and smiling. "He's not nearly as active as Darim, which is probably why Shahin gets along with him so well."

"He's not the one that needs to be worn out," Malik says with a grunt as Darim eagerly starts suckling.

Altaïr sees the young lady from earlier peeking into the room, blushing and pulling away when she sees that Altaïr breastfeeding. She chuckles. She should have guessed that Turgay could woo her over. Cheerful and perky, he seems to be able to innocently and awkwardly make his way through any social interaction. Despite the faltering progress with his weaponry studies, he seems to always have a smile on his face, and he never gives up. The boy will make an excellent assassin one day.

"You may leave now, Turgay," she murmurs.

"W-what?" the boy squawks, looking heartbroken. "Why?"

"I think you have company waiting for you outside."

He straightens, cocking his head and padding outside quietly. She laughs at the cheerful greeting, the surprise and hesitancy of the conversation that fades as they pace down the hallways. Still, in the quiet that follows, she leans against her husband, closes her eyes, and enjoys the feeling of the child at her breast and her husband's heartbeat against her. It makes her realize that her kids will be eating solid foods soon. They'll be walking soon. They'll be growing up, and soon enough they'll be training under her watchful eye and learning to swim. And soon, she'll be learning to swim. She wants to learn to swim as well, so that she can play with her babies in the water and not panic.

Still, as she hears Darim suckling and Malik's quiet breathing, she reflects on how quiet things are. Things have grown progressively calmer, and she realizes that if these are the kinds of things Al Mualim enjoyed, the quiet, the non-activity, it is no wonder he grew soft. With enough assassins to handle the missions, he could stay back and relax. Darim makes a burbling sound, and she cracks an eye to smile at him while he feeds. The boy smiles back at her, suckling quietly for the rest of the time until Shahin comes in with Tazim, who's crying.

Darim immediately forgoes feeding, throwing his arms in the air and greeting his brother. When Tazim doesn't stop crying, Darim babbles until Altaïr sighs and holds her arm out for him. Tazim stops crying only when he's suckling on her other breast. His bright brown eyes are staring at his brother as he feeds, watching quietly and listening to some unknown language that she's sure will carry over when they're older. Darim is decidedly done feeding, talking to Tazim the whole time. Malik is smiling softly when she looks at him, and she rolls her eyes at his chuckle.

"We have been blessed, don't you think?"

"Indeed," she murmurs as Malik kisses her gently.

Eventually, the boys are done, and she puts them to bed, curling in beside her husband and listening as his breathing even out as they cuddle. When the man falls asleep, she stirs and gets out of bed silently, checking on the boys before slipping down to the lake. She's in a cotton shirt and pants, and the air is chilly. The stone is freezing beneath her bare feet, and the sand is not much better.

She swallows when she sees Abbas standing by the lakeside, gazing out over the water. Silently, she slips up beside him and sees him smirk. This is it. She can do this.

"So, you came."

"I did."

The sly smile makes her blush softly as she looks away. She never would have thought she'd be meeting him like this, and to think it was only because her husband hated him so.

"Yes? Are you ready to begin?"

She nods, turning to look at him. He's not that bad-looking, and she's glad that things have started to heal with him. He takes her hands and chuckles, wearing a smirk to fit the devil as he leads her away from the entrance to the castle tunnels. She tenses on instinct.

"Don't worry. I won't let you drown. We'll start out easy."

"Easy for you to say," she growls, eyeing the water as if it's going to reach up and pull her under.

Abbas snorts. "Just look at me, and not at the water."

Slowly, her eyes trail back to the man's eyes. There's certainly some amusement, but there's no bitter hatred. Perhaps the lunches and the walks together have healed over their broken friendship slightly. The increase in rank and the power he has probably helped too. She jerks back when she feels the water lap at her toes, and Abbas laughs.

"Look at you! Skittish as a colt!"

Altaïr snarls. "I hate water! Especially since I had to kill Sibrand!"

Abbas shakes his head, tugging gently at her hands again. "Come on, Altaïr. You have stared death in the eyes. You have given birth. What if your babies have a hard time learning? Will you let them give up on practicing? Or will you join them?"

She exhales shakily, saying nothing as she stares at the rising water while Abbas pulls her farther in. Eventually, she's up to her chest in water, and she can feel herself trembling.

"Relax, Altaïr, I won't let anything happen to you. Allah help us: you are the most pathetic thing I have ever seen."

Still, she swallows nervously as Abbas begins to help her, teaching her how to float on her back. His hands are bigger than she expected, although it might be the nerves of the occasion as he places his hand just below her shoulder blades, and the other on her stomach. She remembers now why she put Abbas in charge of the swimming lessons, because when he alters his voice just right, it's the most soothing thing she's ever heard, and she finds herself calming down as he whispers instructions to her.

By the time she's too cold to continue, she can float by herself. Of course, Abbas's big hands are still lightly touching the small of her back, nudging her by her hip, or some other tiny touch to let her know she's doing all right. She likes the way those two hands feel on her skin, guiding, gentle, firm. When he finally gives her the okay that she's done, she finds herself missing the feel of his hands on her skin. She can feel the paths that he trailed his fingers over, the rough skin of his fingers that are now wrinkling tickling her with light touches as he laughs at her for messing up.

It hits her then, as she steps out of the water, why so much of her attention is on Abbas's hands.

He has two hands.

It takes a moment to register that, and then, it hurts.

Thanks to Al Mualim's deceitful and careful planning, she had caused her husband to lose his second arm.

She thanks Abbas profusely, making plans for tomorrow night as well before walking with him in silence to his room. She can feel him watching her as she thinks about Malik. She loves him, with more than just her heart and soul, and she loves the feeling of him touching her, the feeling of him in her. She loves the sharp tongue he saves for when they're alone, out of the ears of the babies, and she loves how he's always there to help her run the order. Abbas gives her a towel to dry off with, and she dries off as best as she can before thanking him again and slipping into her room. Her husband is still asleep, and she stares at the stump at his side.

He has one arm.

And it's is, truly, her fault.

And now she'll never be able to feel her husband touch her with two hands.

Darim wakes up crying shortly after, and she's picking him up, bouncing him in her arms.

Malik can't even hold the children at the same time. He could hardly hold them as newborns either.

It's all her fault. She holds Darim close as she closes her eyes, making soft shushing noises to try to distract herself from the fact that she ruined Malik's chance at holding their children or touching her with two hands. It doesn't work, and she finds herself in the hallways crying softly as she cradles Darim.

The boy feels her crying, apparently, and once he's done sobbing, he makes a soft cooing noise in imitation of the noises she makes. She smiles as tears trickle down her cheeks, but can't stop the tears.

"I'm sorry, Darim. I'm so sorry," she murmurs, squeezing her eyes shut.

She ruined her husband.

Darim keeps making soft noises at her as she cries, and she feels horrible for making her children watch her cry. She ruined her husband, and now she, her children, and her husband are all suffering for it. She can't keep the tears from running down her cheeks, and the sorrys just keep coming out against her will. Her baby seems to be rightly concerned, and she feels terrible for having him press his tiny hands against her breasts as if to comfort her, cooing softly as she holds him close.

"What are you apologizing so profusely to our son for?"

She jumps nearly out of her skin, turning and seeing her husband standing there, frowning and sleepy-looking. Darim calls out a greeting to his father, whose expression softens when he looks at his son. His gaze comes up to look at her.

"What are you apologizing about, Altaïr?"

She lets her eyes slide to his stump, knowing it will say everything better than anything she could say. She doesn't look up until she feels his one hand caress her cheek, making her look up. She watches his head move in close and feels his lips press gently against hers, and her eyes flutter closed.

"Almost a year and a half later," he murmurs against her, and his breath makes her shiver, "and you're just now apologizing?"

She takes a moment to register the words before she snorts and tries valiantly to glare at him. Darim has stopped his cooing, babbling quietly, and she and Malik pull apart just slightly to look at him. He smiles, settling down in her arms now that he has their attention.

Malik's thumb is rubbing against her cheek in a slow motion, and as she watches their son, their beautiful baby boy, the one that she gave birth to, and she can smell her husband from their close proximity. Just as when she was pregnant, it has a calming effect on her, and she closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his thumb on her cheek, the smell of his skin, the weight of her baby in her arms, and hearing the sounds of their mingled breathing.

"Why are you apologizing just now?"

She waits until he's offered a handkerchief so she can blow her nose and wipe her eyes off.

"You cannot hold our sons as well, or together, or even play with them as well. It is my fault that happened, for not seeing through Al Mualim's plans."

"Plans?"

"He claims that he knew that we would eventually sleep together, that there was lust between us, and he sent us to Solomon's Temple at the time of my monthly bleeding when my ego was high in hopes that something would happen to force us apart."

There's silence, but she offers a finger to Darim, yelping when he takes it and starts gnawing on it. She stares at the child, pressing her finger down on the gums and blinking. There's something hard beneath her finger as Darim keeps gnawing on her finger, talking merrily to her in between bites. There's something hard on top and bottom that she never noticed when he was suckling.

"He… did that on purpose?" Malik murmurs, looking up at her despite the surprised look.

She nods, looking back down at her son. "Are you… growing teeth? Is this why you've been crying so much more lately?"

Darim screams merrily at her question, giving her a nice view of a few white lines on his upper and lower gums. She smiles warmly.

"You are, aren't you?"

Malik has dropped his hand, staring at her hard when she looks at him next, smiling. She knits her eyebrows together.

"He… planned it?"

She blinks. "Yes, he admitted to it."

The man straightens up, scowling.

"He _planned_ to tear us apart? He _planned _it?"

She nods minutely. "Yes?"

She sees the anger in Malik's eyes like she's seen only immediately after Solomon's Temple. She steps back slightly, blinking.

"Malik?"

She watches him walk off, and it baffles her. Perhaps she can't see the true extent of how evil what Al Mualim did was, blinded by her own with her adoration of him in her earlier years, but she knows that Malik was never quite fooled like her. Perhaps it is her own blind devotion that makes her willingly turn a blind eye to the pain that she should feel. She cannot hate him. She couldn't even if she tried. Al Mualim had done so much for her that despite his evil-doing at Solomon's Temple, she's willing to overlook it. Of course, she also didn't lose an arm to his conniving planning. Nevertheless, she walks back into their room and settles Darim back down with a short feeding session. She realizes that if he doesn't wean himself off breast milk quickly, her nipples are going to be extremely sore, extremely soon. She kisses his head and his hands, blowing her nose on a kerchief and waiting for Malik to return as Darim falls back asleep.

She can feel a deep sadness in spreading throughout her, because she doesn't want to blame Al Mualim for everything that happened. It was, truly, her own fault that Malik had lost his arm, and now they were all paying the consequences from it. Al Mualim held no blame, and if she had had any sort of self-preservation sense, she would have known better than to go ahead and plunge through Solomon's Temple. She had truly failed that mission in every sense, and she had deserved to have her rank stripped from her. She rested her head against the back of where she was sitting, closing her eyes. She had failed miserably, and now she was paying the consequences for it—while Malik had been for over a year and a half.

When Malik finally does return, she rises from where she took a seat and looks at him, approaching him on quiet, cat-like footsteps. He still looks irritated, although no longer pissed, and she presses herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his hand slides around her waist.

"I'm sorry I messed up so badly," she murmurs, leaning in before he can respond with the intent of making the sorrow disappear.

She kisses him, as dirtily as she can, wanting to force the sorrow away that she had never felt until tonight, and when she finally lures him into bed, she makes sure that he releases all of his anger, wringing every drop from him that she can in the silence as the babies sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning finds them curled beneath the blankets, and Altaïr briefly thinks that she feels so completely, wholly, and utterly screwed that she never wants to move again. Her groin is sore in an entirely pleasing way, and she sincerely hopes that her children will forgive her if she woke them. She feels absolutely filthy, and she'll have to take a bath before feeding them, hoping that Darim's newfound teeth don't cause her already aching breasts to hurt worse. Still, as she feels Malik at her back and his arm around her tightly, she muses that her children are extremely quiet.

There's a note by her head, and she lifts a tired arm to look at it.

"Altaïr,

It is me, Abbas. I have your twins. They were crying. Don't worry about feeding them. I also have a gift for you, given that you and your husband have, undoubtedly, resolved the tension between you now.

Abbas"

She blinks, snorts, and crushes the letter, but exhales softly and then closes her eyes and breathes in deep, enjoying the way Malik smells after last night. She hopes he's in a better mood now. She can feel the ache between her legs, and it feels so pleasant. She remembers it from their first night together, their only night together a year and a half ago, and even though she hates the feeling of the filth between her legs, the ache is something that makes her happy. It's some undeterminable length of time later before she feels Malik stir, pressing his nose against her head and breathing in deep before muttering something. She can't understand him, but she hums positively in response.

There's a silence a while more before she hears him mumble, "You're awake."

"Indeed. Are you?"

"Not quite," her husband murmurs.

"Do you feel less angry this morning?"

"Yes, now let me enjoy you this morning."

"Enjoy me?"

"Yes. Shut up and rest, Altaïr."

She hums quietly, pressing back against him and enjoying the feel of his breath against her neck, his hand resting around her, and his body, still muscled and warm from the blankets atop them, pressed along her back. She needs to get back in shape, having taken far too long from training because of her children.

Of course, her children are quite a distraction, and she is tempted just to continue taking it easy to spend more time with them and her novices, _all _of them.

She frequents the training rings, helping when she can, laughing as the women heckle Rauf or the novices sputter, flustered, at their mistakes.

Malik moves against her again, and her thoughts immediately derail as his hand trails up, in between her breasts, and grips lightly at her shoulder. She chuckles, placing her hand over his and closing her eyes. She enjoys the feeling of him, the smell of him, the sound of him, until he eventually yawns and pulls his arm off her, rubbing her thigh as he grunts and then rolls on his back. Immediately, she rolls over and presses on top of him, smirking at him as she winds their legs together and sees him look at her groggily.

"Where are the children?"

"Abbas has taken them. Darim is probably convincing Tazim to try other food beside my milk—which you so thoroughly enjoyed last night."

Malik snorts a laugh, an uncharacteristic grin making its way onto his lips. She hears him laugh, his arm coming across his eyes. She presses a kiss to his lips when he stops laughing, and she feels him hum as his tongue slides into her mouth. It's slow, leisurely, and she takes a moment to savor the quiet sounds of their kissing and the way he teases the scar on her lip. When she pulls back, he kisses a path to her ear.

"Let us bathe together. We are filthy," he murmurs, and she arches her head back to expose her neck, her eyes closing.

"We will get no cleaner in a bath together than just staying here," she says as he scrapes his teeth against her skin, giving him a quiet moan just to egg him on.

"Yes, but the servants will have to clean the blankets today."

She snorts, and she can feel Malik smirking as he presses a kiss to her neck, nipping gently at a bruise she already knows is there. She can feel him getting excited as she runs her hands over his chest before sitting up with a smirk.

"Well? Let us bathe," she commands, grinding down slowly and grinning triumphantly as he bucks up and groans softly.

She rises without another word, avoiding his grasping hand and sending him a flirtatious wink as she disappears into the bathing room that was attached for Al Mualim's personal use when he ruled. They make sure to put it to good use now with the four of them in their family.

As she slips into the hot water, she can hear Malik entering, and she turns around, casting a "come-hither" look and gesturing with a curling finger. The man is still naked, and as he walks over, she takes the time to let her eyes roam her husband's body, admiring the scars and the hard muscle. By the time he actually slips into the water, they're both worked up and eager.

When she steps out, the water long since cold and grimy, she feels Malik press against her back and wrap them both in the cloth he had taken to dry off. She leans against him, running her hands up his sides before she turns around and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply, exhaling against his lips.

This intimacy is something she will spoil herself with, something she will grow fat on, and she will treasure every moment of it.

They eventually dress and walk out side-by-side, the comfortable silence that hung in their bedroom now destroyed with the life of the castle and their plans for the day. Several of the master assassins smirk at them as they make their way to the office to check on anything that might be scheduled.

When they finally sit, they're interrupted as Abbas comes in, holding no child, but several ground-in food stains that look suspiciously like little handprints on his tunic and a jar of some herb in his hands. She quirks an eyebrow, almost relieved they didn't have time to go over the schedule. The man snorts as he eyes them both.

"Here, from a trader who passed through a while ago. Herbs to make your body hostile to any child."

He sets the jar down as a young lady comes in with tea for them. She had bought it from a traders' caravan, curiosity getting the better of her and Malik telling her to buy it just to try it. She had fallen in love with the tea leaves. Altaïr thanks her, and the woman giggles.

"I can see it now," she says.

"What do you mean?" Malik says as he leans back in the chair, and she quirks an eyebrow.

"The masters, they said you two were glowing." She smiles warmly. "I can see it now."

Altaïr blinks, feeling her cheeks heat slightly. Was it really that much of a noticeable difference after last night? Abbas chuckles himself. The young lady dismisses herself, vanishing as Abbas shakes her head.

"It's true, what she says. You do have an aura about you of serenity. Perhaps you had a bit more fun than the rest of us last night for the first time in a long time?" the man drawls, looking at her and her alone. "A pinch of this herb with your morning drink, and you should not have to worry of children."

"It will not kill her or the children we have now, will it?" Malik says more than asks, and Altaïr rolls her eyes.

"Of course not," Abbas growls, glaring at him as he exits. "Neither she nor the children are the ones I would be after."

Her eyebrows raise at that, but she knows that the tension between him and her husband is extraordinary high. This is a perfect reminder of why she keeps them separate as often as possible. Still, she sips at her tea slowly, exhaling as she leans against her husband. The noises of the castle are muted, and she feels herself still relaxed from this morning. She hums as she feels Malik slip his arm around her.

"I will wait until the twins are weened before I start with the herb. Just in case."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. If I do not get my monthly bleeding within today or tomorrow, I will take a few pinches."

Malik hums in agreement, watching her as she drinks the warm beverage. She lets her mind clear as she drinks it.

"You are hopeless," she mutters eventually.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I hardly think that Abbas would be half the problem he is now if you would simply trust him."

"He lusts after you, Altaïr. Of course I would be wary around him."

She hums, almost wanting to go another round with him. If they were on the road, they would never get anywhere. It is bad enough that they will have to wait until tonight now. She must be near her monthly bleeding, as she feels so full of her husband and yet it is not enough. It does not get this bad normally, but all she can think about is him, and she is content to sit in the "silence" of the office, both of them still far too relaxed and borderline falling asleep.

However, when Turgay comes running into the office, panicking with Tazim on his hip, they wake immediately.

"Come quickly! They will kill the female Templar if you don't!"

Altaïr frowns, blinking for just a moment to register the words before she's off, flying down the stairs and into the courtyard, where she sees Maria bound and bleeding with the assassins surrounding her.

"Enough of this! Step away, you fools!" she snarls, walking down the ramp. "Shahin, where are you? Unchain her!"

She watches her boy and takes Tazim from him, but her boy unbinds her, and Maria is immediately on her feet, straightening herself out and glaring at the assassins. Altaïr steps forward, near her, and nods, bowing slightly in respect.

"My apologies. They do not… they are not used to Templars this close to the castle without ill intent."

"Then you should teach these sexist bigots who is the real threat here," Maria says haughtily. "I sought you out on King Richard's recommendation."

She laughs, throwing her arm open and embracing the woman as Tazim blinks, caught in between the embrace of the two of them. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"I trust that aside from this… welcome… that things will be different here than among the men of King Richard's."

"Indeed," she says as they kiss cheeks. "I apologize." She steps back and exhales. "I take it things have taken a turn for the worse with Robert's death."

"Yes, unfortunately," she says as Altaïr gestures her to follow, waving off the assassins.

"Do not worry: we will get you cleaned and clothed properly in no time."

"If I may, bandages and treatment would be much more appreciated."

She rolls her eyes, looking at the woman, who is smiling warmly. It is nice to be in the presence of a woman like her again.

"No, you may not, Maria, despite the fact that you are bleeding all over the place," she says with a teasing look. "Surely that was not from my men?"

"Hardly. I had more trouble with animals than them. Yours were quick to subdue and bring forward."

"They are taught to do such things when it is a number that is manageable."

"Hm… then you keep high standards for your men."

"I do."

She takes Maria in, shows her a room near hers, and gives her medical supplies with a hot bath. By the time the ex-Templar is done, Altaïr is in the library playing with Darim, Tazim lying on a mat a few feet away gnawing at a large, smooth stone pestle someone had bought once from some sort of caravan for reasons she didn't know. Still, it had been the man's own pocket change, so she hadn't even bothered to think twice. Darim screams merrily as she scoops him up and blows air against his belly. She's going to miss it when he's too big for games like this.

"I see you are adjusting quite nicely to being a mother."

She looks toward Maria, who has a soft smile. She chuckles as Malik comes walking over. Altaïr greets her husband with a kiss, and she watches him give Maria a thorough once-over, frowning.

"Aren't you… the Templar from the funeral?"

"I am a Templar no more if you will accept me into your order."

Malik is silent for a moment, his attention momentarily distracted when Darim babbles a hello of forms to his papa. The man snorts and places his hand over the boy's face, laughing at the angered outcry before he jumps, yanking his hand away and staring at the child as if demon-possessed. Altaïr can't keep the smirk off her face.

"He's growing in teeth. You'll have to be more—"

"Teeth?" he asks, looking mildly surprised.

"Teeth."

"All children must grow in teeth. Did you not know that? They are not retractable," Maria says, giving her hand over to Darim, only to have the boy bite it.

Maria doesn't even flinch under the glare directed her way from her husband, and Altaïr is more than happy to chuckle. Both of her boys have been gnawing on things. Although Tazim prefers something smooth, like marble or a piece of cloth, Darim prefers anything he can reach, including hands, hummus, paper, and bowls. She watches as the boy keeps chewing on the woman's finger, and Malik eventually sighs.

"Very well, you may stay here. No doubt Altaïr would raise hell if we didn't let you."

Maria looks at her, and she smiles mischievously.

"I'm sure you'll be an excellent assassin with a crash course," Altaïr says.

"I'm sure you'll find no better," she responds, smirking.

"This order is doomed," Malik mutters, taking Darim when the boy cries out for him.

The baby is immediately placated, and Altaïr looks at her son, smiling. The boy babbles happily to her, perfectly content in his father's arm. Her children are strong and healthy. Undoubtedly, Darim will be one of the youngest assassins to ever ascend the ranks. He will be active and eager, and if his parents are anything to go by, he will have the strength, the speed, and the skill. She scoops up Tazim, who is grabbing at her, and she kisses his nose, smiling at his smile. Yes, her kids are the best, and she is going to watch them grow with pride.


	10. Chapter 10

It's easy to settle in with Maria around. Altaïr laughs as she watches her kick Rauf's butt in the arena, soundly beating him in sword combat and target practice. She becomes a master assassin in no time, going on several missions and coming back with a flawless record with an ease that takes many men years to obtain.

Of course, this also has its downfalls. She watches as time slips through her fingers, watching the order right itself, the novices train themselves, and the assassins work themselves. Altaïr watches as Abbas and Maria become close friends, finding herself smiling when she sneaks out for swimming lessons and the man can't help but talk about the ex-Templar as she learns, or in walking around the castle, seeing the two practically joined at the hip. When she one day walks into the garden and sees the two kissing in the shade of a tree, she scoops Darim up as he rolls by and plants him on her hip before he can disturb them. Perhaps Abbas having a lover would lessen Malik's ire at the man.

Darim and Tazim wean themselves off her breast milk, quickly adapting to mushy, and for Darim, solid, foods. She's started adding in the herb to her morning drink, grateful for her monthly bleeding after that night and morning with Malik, and it seems to be working wonders as she's finally able to start having sex with Malik regularly. She had confessed she wanted him, again and again, and now, whenever they're alone, there's always a spark of lust that she has no qualms with acting on.

Her new nickname from her husband is "Minx."

And even then, she refuses to stop, not that her husband minds, and not that she really cares, as she strolls in one day, close to starting and feeling, for all the world, like she'll die if she doesn't ride Malik hard. She slinks into their office, and she finds him working steadily. When he senses her, he looks up, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, Altaïr, we have a meeting with the visitors as soon as they arrive."

She smirks, sauntering over as Malik's eyes narrow.

"Altaïr, I'm warning you."

"I know you're warning me. But I've never heeded a warning, now, have I?"

Malik scowls. "It would not do us well if I were to—"

She cuts him off by pushing him back in the seat, plopping down in his lap, and kissing him soundly. Her hands immediately find their way under his clothes as she hums.

"They will be here shortly," Malik hisses, although he doesn't protest much more than that as she grinds down against him, pulling off her non-uniform shirt to expose her chest to him and watching his eyes, now almost completely black, wander down to stare.

"I don't care, Malik. I told you: I want you. I've wanted you. Again and again until you feel you can't possibly release anything else into me and then again. I've always wanted this."

When he finally goes flying down the steps, completely disheveled and panting, apologizing profusely for keeping their guests waiting, she slinks up behind him licking her lips, looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream. The king of whatever guffaws loudly at how happy she looks, and the translator tells her husband that the king has a wife just like her. She smirks at him, despite the glare and the "Minx" that he mutters as he inhales, catching his breath, and straightens himself out before shaking hands with them.

The evening goes wonderfully, and their negotiations work out exactly as they had hoped.

Of course, Malik also seems much more willing to agree to whatever she says that night.

It's little under two years before she finds herself wide-eyed as Darim goes running past her in the hallways, screaming and giggling like mad as he hides behind her leg. Turgay has been chasing him for play, and Tazim sits on her hip, sucking his thumb and watching his brother. Her boys are over two years old now.

When she blinks next, they're four, Darim always into something and Tazim following behind, talking to his brother in what she had continued to refer to as "baby speak," but the two of them seemed to understand each other. She watches them wander around, getting into trouble with the novices and distracting Turgay and Shahin from their exams in favor of getting attention. She cuts them some slack when they do their final mission to become journeymen, over-looking a few minor mistakes that they normally would be reprimanded for because of the fact that Darim and Tazim had taken up so much of their time—well, what little time wasn't spent playing with their parents. Altaïr will have to start Darim on classes soon. It's bad enough he already holds a practice sword and tries to convince Rauf with his faulty Arabic to let him take on the master assassins who help train the women and the novices.

Nevertheless, Darim remains faithfully at the sides as she helps train the boys one day, sparring with a few to figure out what their weaknesses at fighting are.

She's been dizzy and nauseated again, but she blames it on the heat of the summer and the extensive training sessions she's been having, so she drinks water heavily. It's taken a while for her to get back in shape, having let herself go more than she had realized. Not that either Malik or her had minded, the slight softness to her stomach and her body giving the children places to rest their heads on at night—or Malik, as he sometimes did after they had a good night together. Nevertheless, she's been growing restless, and she wants to go out into the field again once her boys are officially novices, so she's been training relentlessly, knowing that it'll sneak up on her faster than she had anticipated.

Nevertheless, when she's in her final match training the novices and feels the need to eat some dates, she dismisses it on her monthly bleeding approaching. She can almost taste them as she finishes her final match and finds herself staring at the bag of dates on the post as her husband eats from it. She pads over, taking the offered water to replenish what she had sweat out, and then sticks her hand into the bag, earning a snort from Malik.

"You always know just what to get."

"Careful now," he says with a teasing smirk, "you're beginning to sound like you're pregnant again."

She snorts, but the thought makes her stop and think momentarily. She waves the evaluations off to another master assassin as she hops over the fence and walks into the castle with her husband. There's no chance she could be pregnant with that herb in her system: Abbas, Maria, and many Chinese vendors had all promised. Maria had been on it for ten years now without a problem. She takes comfort in that fact as Malik draws bath water and they strip, but as she slips into the warm water, she can feel something lurking at the back of her mind, that same voice of self-doubt and self-hate from her first pregnancy.

She's almost asleep in Malik's arm before she jerks awake with unsettling thoughts, pulling away from Malik to stare at him, alarmed.

It's been four months since her last bleeding, and she hadn't realized it.

"Altaïr?"

She bites her knuckle, frowning. Perhaps she's wrong, but the last time she had bled that she could remember was just before her boys' fourth birthday. It was now in the middle of the summer seasons, and she hadn't bled once.

Plus, she was dizzy.

And nauseated.

And having cravings.

"Malik," she says, schooling her face into something unreadable, "I think I'm pregnant again."

Malik frowns. "Impossible. That herb takes care—"

"Hear me out," she says as she sits on his lap. "I have been dizzy and nauseated, although I thought perhaps it was best not to tell you, blaming it on dehydration from all the training. My cravings when I bleed are not nearly as strong as the one I felt in the training ring, and I have not bled for nearly four months."

Malik is silent, studying her. She's keeping her face calm but serious. Finally, she watches as her husband adjusts with her in his lap, purses his lips, and speaks, tight-lipped.

"Then we'd best keep this under wraps until we know for certain."

She frowns, but nods. "Although I am pretty sure—"

"Until you start showing, we cannot be certain. I find it hard to believe that that herb would not have taken care of it."

"If I am truly pregnant, then it would be an act of Allah."

"Let's hope then that he doesn't try to lay waste to Masyaf with nature's fury, then," the man says lightly, earning an eye roll and a soft scoff.

Still, when they finally get out of the bath, she's almost certain that she is pregnant, and it's not dehydration or her monthly bleeding.

Nevertheless, she's alarmed when Abbas, Maria, Turgay, and Shahin all come in, her two new journeymen looking sharp in their non-grey tunics. Darim is sniffling, his eyes red-rimmed and his nose runny, and all four of the adults are laughing as Tazim watches her rise warily.

"What's going on?"

"You're going to kill us, mom," Turgay says with a chuckle.

She frowns. What on earth are they talking about? When she approaches the group, Tazim snuggles down into Shahin's arms.

"First," Abbas says, adjusting Darim in his arms, "I wish to say congratulations. And second, I must say I thought you didn't want any more children?"

She blinks. Children—when had the news gotten out? They weren't even sure. The only two who knew about the possible fact that she might be pregnant were her and her husband. She frowns. They had made certain not to tell anyone. It was just in the bath that they discussed this, and the servants knew not to disturb them once they had taken to the baths. There had been no ears listening in that she knew of.

"What are you talking about?"

Turgay laughs as Darim starts crying again, hugging Abbas tightly as Maria rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"Your boys came running down to the training rings screaming and crying about being replaced by the new baby you were carrying. Whoever explained what 'pregnant' meant to your sons said that you were having a new baby—which, according to Darim, meant that you were going to replace them."

She blinks, taking a moment to register the words. Replace her sons? Why would she do that? When had they overheard her announcement? It must have been in the baths, because sometimes her boys would slip in with them, same as they did with Turgay or Shahin, always eager for attention and demanding to be played with. Well, Darim demanded to be played with, taking to the water like a rat and leaving Tazim to sit in his parents' laps, switching occasionally just to make sure that they were both loving on him. Darim's quiet sob causes her to look at her son, and she reaches out for him, her expression something much less concentrated and much softer.

"Darim, honey, I would never get rid of you."

"But you told daddy in the bath that you were pregnant!" the boy cries as he latches onto her when she takes him from Abbas.

Yup, she thinks, it was the bath. She should have known better. Darim seemed to be a magnet for knowing when the bath was full. Of course he would have tried to peek in. He had scared master assassins before by rolling in and falling into the water, or running in and jumping, Tazim usually following meekly behind him.

"We don't know if I'm pregnant. I'm not supposed to be."

"So… you are not?"

"I don't know, baby," she says, kissing his head. "I don't know."

"What if you are?"

"Then you'll have a new sibling."

Darim sniffles, wiping his nose on his arm and smearing his snot all over him. She sighs and uses her sleeve to clean him up, telling him to blow his nose and shaking her head. Tazim reaches for her, and she extends an arm to take him, only to have Malik scoop the child up. Tazim hugs his papa tightly.

"But we would never stop loving you two," he murmurs. "Don't believe anything else."

Darim was quiet for a moment, and Altaïr almost asked him what was going through his head, but he answered it himself.

"So then, you'll let me play with real swords?"

She pressed her hand to her eyebrow, rubbing her eye with the palm and sighing. The others laughed.

"You are not ready to handle a sword," Shahin says with a soft smile. "But you will be, soon."

"Will you teach us, Turgay?" the little boy pipes, and she chuckles.

"No, the ring master will teach you," Turgay responds, and for some reason, as she looks at Turgay with the white tunic and the grey sleeves, she feels pride in her chest.

Turgay looks handsome in the robes, and switched to courting another young lady since the time of the first one, but he hasn't let it discourage him. The new girl he's been courting for a while, over a year and a little more cautious with the second young lady, but she's hoping that soon he'll approach with the interest of marriage. He's out of his awkward puppy stage now, his voice is long since broken and his chest has filled out. She wants to take him back in time to when she was pregnant the first time and put bricks on his head to keep him from growing. He's grown up too fast—_all _her boys have. He looks so handsome, and she feels so proud.

Her eyes slide over to Shahin, who had shot up in height and filled his robes quite nicely. Although perhaps not as muscled as Turgay is, Shahin is better at the stealth part, the lying and manipulating. Still just as serious as before, he always studying and practicing, although more than once she's received a report where he slid into the shadows as Turgay took over the brunt of fighting, fleeing to the rooftops and using a bow and arrow like Talal was rumored to. He's expressed no interest in any of the women here, but she's heard rumors through a few travelers that there's a beautiful young flower in Jerusalem that he's been seen with several times. They're both good-looking men. She's proud of them both.

"So we're going to have a baby?"

Malik shrugs awkwardly. "We don't know for certain."

"What I want to know is how that herb stopped working," Maria says. "It's never failed me."

"The only thing we can surmise is an act of Allah, which wouldn't surprise me given how last time she was pregnant, he nearly destroyed Jerusalem with Mother Nature," Malik says with a snort.

"Our children are protected by him," she says, and Darim looks at her.

"So where is the baby?"

"In my tummy," she says, and Darim's eyes grow comically wide.

He lifts his leg from where it was resting against her and wiggles to lean over awkwardly in her arms. He pats her tummy and looks at it.

"There's a baby in your tummy?"

She nearly drops Darim on his head as he squirms down and reaches up to place his hands on her belly.

"Yes, there's a baby, maybe."

"Are you going to keep taking the herb?" Maria asks.

She shakes her head. "Not until we know for certain."

"Although given your… appetite…" Abbas begins, wearing a smirk and causing her to frown as she blushes. "… I could not imagine that you could survive so long without your husband."

She looks away, and Darim tilts his head.

"What do you mean, uncle Abbas? Momma doesn't eat daddy."

She coughs, her ears burning as Abbas and Maria laugh, Turgay and Shahin blushing with idle chatter about their "parents'" sex life. The boy hugs her hips, looking at the man.

"Don't worry about it, little one," Maria coos. "Your mother doesn't eat your father."

Darim nods definitively. "I know that."

Tazim nods, wrapping his arms around Malik's neck and kissing his cheek. She exhales softly when she's certain that Darim's panic is over, and then spends the rest of the day with her sons—all four of them—and even drags Malik out near the fields at Darim's request for a midday picnic with the other children from the village, who all seem to think the assassins are something special and amazing.


	11. Chapter 11

When she blinks next, she's standing naked from the waist up in her room with Malik and the boys as she examines her stomach. She's quit training but watched her diet. Her stomach is getting bigger—no, rounder. She runs her fingers over her stomach lightly, feeling happiness well up inside her. As hectic as life has been with her two boys, she likes the idea of a third child, perhaps a girl this time. A little girl would be the best gift she could have, even if she turns out to be like one of the young women who prefer to flit about in the airy dresses.

"Altaïr?"

She turns to look at Malik, who has Darim hanging from his arm, biting it, while Tazim is sitting there with a primer, reading silently. She's proud to say that he's self-taught. The boy will be a genius, although whether his prowess with the sword will be equally matched she doesn't know, but her baby is a genius. She meets her husband's gaze as her hand fans out over her stomach. They've been celibate for a month now, and it's odd to just now see the bump appearing noticeably, given how fat she was before with children.

"I'm pregnant, Malik. The bump is here."

Malik grunts when Darim drops from his arm, landing on all fours like a cat and rushing over to her to stare at the bump, wide-eyed.

"You're fat!"

"I have a baby growing inside me, baby."

"I'm not a baby," the boy cries indignantly, and she snorts.

"You will always be my baby, even when you're an old man."

Darim scowls, then points at her belly. "Even him?"

"Even him."

He jabs toward Tazim, who's watching curiously. "And him?"

"And him," she says seriously with a nod of her head. "You're my babies. All three of you."

Darim growls, then looks at her belly and places his hands on it. "I'm not gonna let her call you a baby, baby. Not when you're a real boy like me, 'cause then you aren't a baby anymore, okay?"

He's silent a couple of moments before he nods.

"Good. I promise you."

She tilts her head minutely. "It spoke to you?"

Darim rolls her eyes and makes a noise similar to the one Malik makes when he has to explain something a second time. He shakes his head at her.

"It's a boy, momma. I know these things."

"Oh, really now?" Malik murmurs, sounding utterly amused. "You can hear the baby?"

"Tazim said he's already heard the baby talk when you held him last time. It was telling him how comfortable your belly was!"

She meets Malik's amused gaze, trying to hide the smile that would only annunciate his laugh lines and wrinkles. He's already getting older, and she's sure that she's starting to show age, too, from all the stress of their lives. Not that she can't say she would mine the wrinkles and the white hair. She's never been one to shy away from missions, but now that her babies are here, all she wants is an excuse to stay home with them. Creaky bones loud enough to be heard a mile away would give her the perfect excuse.

"So, your mother's stomach is a comfortable place to be?"

Darim nods matter-of-factly and looks at his father. "It is, according to the baby! Tazim wouldn't lie, would you?"

She sees her other son shake his head before turning back to his book. He's spoken a handful of words when Darim isn't around, but the other assassins, including Turgay, Shahin, and the Sofian couple as she calls them, have never heard her boy speak. The Sofian couple may say they wish to keep their options open, but they're falling in love, as even Malik has become kinder to Abbas as if instinctively realizing he no longer lusted after her enough to make him fear for her. Of course, it helps that she can swim now, and they no longer have lessons together, but still.

"What else did the baby say to you?" she asks.

"He said that he was worried about that thingie that you would drink. But an angel told him not to worry."

She blinks, all amusement leaving her. This was slightly more than she was expecting.

"And when did he tell you this?" Malik asks sternly, frowning.

Darim's eyes grow wide as he looks at his papa, shrinking down as if he might be in trouble. "He told me two weeks ago! When we were cuddling in bed! Momma was complaining of a tummy ache, and I told the baby to calm down, remember? He said that's why he was upset! Something that you drank was bothering him!"

She looks at her husband, frowning. "I stopped taking the drug a month ago."

"Perhaps it is still working its way out of your system?"

She blinks, frowning. "I cannot imagine it would not be out yet."

"He did say it happened two weeks ago. You would have been off it for little over a week then."

She purses her lips and then nods. "True." She pauses momentarily. "Has… has the baby mentioned it since? I've held you plenty of times since then."

Darim looked at Tazim, who met his gaze. She swore they had telepathy or something. There was a reason why twins were revered in some cultures. Finally, Darim shook his head.

"No, he's just happy now. He says he likes being in your belly. It's warm and safe."

She purses her lips. "Interesting."

Darim goes running from the room, and with a loud roar, he jumps into his older brother's arms. She can tell even before Turgay comes in holding him. Still, it isn't until that night, as Darim and Tazim sleep in a bed nearby, that she rolls over and kisses Malik deeply before mentioning it again.

"That was almost worrying today," she murmurs as she pulls back, exhaling gently against her husband's lips.

She moves closer when Malik's hand grabs her butt lightly and applies enough pressure to let her know what he wants. She slides one hand under his arm and pushes him onto his back to rest her head on his chest. Altaïr presses a kiss to collarbone, running her hand over the muscles on his stomach and feeling them move beneath her fingers.

"You are a minx," Malik mutters. "An insatiable minx sent to be my ruin."

She snorts, feeling him shudder at the feel of breath against his skin.

"I had no intention of arousing you," she murmurs, her tongue darting out to taste the nearest patch of his tan flesh.

"Mm, I think you are."

"Now that you mention it, I shall."

She ghosts her fingertips over the dips of his muscles.

"You are incorrigible."

"Ah, but I am yours. It was you who whet my appetite for sex."

"I never should have let you into my bed," he growls as she presses a kiss to his chest and walks her fingers down that line of hair from his belly button.

"Then you would never have found a wife who will put up with your hideous attitude."

"My attitude is not hideous—only when people annoy me. Which for you is all the time."

"I see how it is then. Why bother sleeping with me night after night, then? Why not cast me to the side as some men do?" she murmurs quietly before catching a nipple between her lips and flicking her tongue over it.

She listens to his grunt, his sharp intake of breath and feels the twitching of his muscles beneath her hand as she palms him gently through his pants. She wants to chuckle—it is not her fault men are so easily aroused and so terribly distracted with the promise of sex.

"Whoever is to say that I am so base as to do that? I have pledged my body and soul to you."

"Indeed, and I have taken care of it well, would you not say?"

There's silence, and she can feel him smirking as she slips her hand just under the line of his pants, trailing a finger back and forth and watching as her husband bucks slightly for a hand that is not where he wants it.

"Ah, I would say so," he breathes, "given that every man who I have talked to has complained about his lack of sex with his wife, aside from myself."

"Then I would say I have done an excellent job of taking care of you," she murmurs, rubbing her fingers on the patch of hair between his legs before smirking when he grunts.

When she's licking her fingers clean, feeling her husband pant beneath her, she tilts her head back to afford him a look, enjoying the way his pupils dilate. She likes the flushed and out of breath look on him and the look he has when he reaches climax. Less about the sex itself, she enjoys the pleasure they get, the expressions on her husband's face and the looks he gives her afterward. She finishes cleaning her hand and rests it across his waist, tucking her face against his chest and ignoring the lust she feels for Malik. It can wait until after the baby. There is no point in risking it—_him_.

She wakes up the next morning curled against her husband, Tazim nestled on top of them and Darim in Malik's arm. Her boys are watching her and Malik curiously, as if waiting.

"Momma?" Tazim whispers.

She quirks an eyebrow. "Yes, baby?"

Tazim smiles, and she knows that she'll remember that moment forever, because Tazim smiling is a rare occasion. He's beautiful when he smiles. The young boy adjusts and nestles down again, staring at her seriously.

"I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

"You won't get rid of us?"

"I promise."

"The baby is very happy in your tummy."

"Can you really talk to it?"

He nods. "But it's okay. We'll have a new brother, right?"

She nods in response as Tazim yawns and closes his eyes, happily nestled in between them. Then, she notes with surprised, that Tazim was speaking fluently. How much was this boy aging behind her back? She brings her hand up to brush against his cheek, stops for a minute, then rests it across him. He hugs her arm as she smiles and scoots closer for Tazim to cuddle.

Eventually, her husband wakes up, and she greets him, Darim shrieking merrily at him and telling him it was time for a bath.

They eventually make it down to start the day. It's a bumbling flurry of happy children and energetic classes, and everywhere she looks she's still receiving congratulations now that they know for certain she's pregnant.

By the time she's about ready to give birth, Altaïr is about ready to go stir crazy. She's no longer allowed to train, no longer around to leap around. She's stuck on the ground with a fat belly and a healthy appetite, and she's certain that this time around, it's going to be harder for her to lose the pounds she gained. She's met the midwife and the midwife-in-training, and she has nothing more to do aside from make friends with them. Tazim has taken a fascination with her round belly, and she finds him murmuring stories to the baby that he's read, sitting there in the quiet of the noontime or the slower days. Darim hates the baby. He's no longer able to sit in her lap, and he hates it. She wonders if they're going to have problems with them and a new child. If Tazim is any indication, Altaïr isn't going to worry. She hopes that the peak of Darim's problems will end when her stomach gets flatter again.

So, in response to his irritation with the new baby belly, she lets him start training.

She supposes that most mothers would be worried, but Darim is having a blast with Rauf and the other boys learning, despite his age and his wild energy. Tazim is much more content to stay at her side and watch his brother. The first time Darim gets hurt, she nearly has a heart attack—until she learns that he'll be fine, and that he had been horsing around despite Rauf's warnings. The boy cries, but she feels no pity. A touch of sympathy, having been there, but he's back on his feet in no time, wielding the sword that's too big and strutting around like her before Solomon's Temple, proclaiming himself king and making all the journeymen his servants.

It probably doesn't help that both the journeymen and the novices play along.

However, when her water breaks as she's watching him one day, she's caught completely off guard, sitting in the shade against the wall and watching her boy playfully attack a novice with the wooden sword in between lessons as Tazim sits beside her. When she feels the gush of water, the feeling of warm water between her legs causes her to grunt and move.

"Mama?" Tazim asks, looking at her when she moves.

"Go get your father," she commands, and the little boy takes off without a question.

She shifts, feeling more water spill out, and she's suddenly extremely uncomfortable out in the open.

"Master Altaïr?" Rauf asks in looking over.

It must be the fact that he's so used to picking out the children with disorders or bad moods that he could sense her discomfort before he knew it. She realizes he's too far away to see the muddy water between her legs. She grunts as she stares at the disgusting mess between her legs.

"I need your help, Rauf. Call off the lesson and send the boys away."

The man frowns but does as he's told, and, soon enough, the training rings are empty and he's pacing over.

"How can I—oh, dear…"

"I need help getting up. Tazim went in to get Malik, but I need to get back to the room."

"You… wet yourself?" he asked with mild surprised as she slings an arm over his shoulder and relies on him to get her up. "Let me fetch you a blanket."

"I have one," Malik says, running down the ramp to get to her.

He helps her spread the blanket across her shoulders to hide the mess on her pants. She feels disgusting. Warm water was not something she enjoyed trickling down her legs, and warm mud did not feel nice. At the entrance to Masyaf castle, they're greeted by the midwife and trainee. Rauf plods along beside her, worried and prodding with tentative questions about what's going on, perhaps mildly afraid of what may have happened. She's focusing on everything the first midwife taught her about childbirth, breathing, relaxing, and preparing for the pain of the contractions. When Turgay and Shahin see what's going on, Turgay scoops up Darim while Shahin cuddles Tazim, both all-to-eager to get out of the way and far away from her room.

At the beginning of the hall to get to their room, the first contraction hits. She crumples in the hallway, biting her lip harder enough to bleed. It seems like this child is more eager to get out of her than his brothers. Malik staggers under her weight, and her nails dig into his skin as she focuses on the breathing. Surely it can't be as bad as the first time, when she popped two of them out.

Nevertheless, Malik limps away with more than his fair share of death threats and wounds from her.

Even then, she manages to stay awake long enough to hold her new baby boy, nurse him a while, and name him Sef before she falls asleep, holding the boy close and trembling with exhaustion as Malik runs his fingers through her hair in a soothing manner, despite his injuries.

Darim and Tazim take a liking to the baby the moment they see him.

Darim is intent on showing the new baby everything when it's awake, despite the fact it simply wants to nurse, or the fact that it's crying. He wants to make sure the baby is happy, and every time it cries, he's convinced he did something wrong, trying to make up for it. It's adorable, in all actuality, to see him so concerned and watch him watch the baby sleep.

Tazim seems to be much more insecure about having his mother taken away from him. When she nurses, Tazim is right beside her. When she changes Sef, Tazim is sitting at her feet. When Malik holds the baby, Tazim is clinging to his open side. Nevertheless, whenever they offer to hold him instead, he always politely declines, willing to run at a moment's notice to fetch them something for the baby. He seems to care about the baby a lot, even pulling Darim back several times to make sure that she or Malik had enough room.

Turgay and Shahin seem to find the whole thing hilarious. The new girl on his arm seems to love the baby, but Turgay ends up laughing with Shahin on the sidelines with Malik when the twins get over-protective of the new brother and tell her she can't touch him. They're determined to keep their new baby brother safe and healthy, and they're convinced that strangers that aren't any of her immediate family are going to get the baby sick. Turgay catches her before she can leave, and then talks to Darim and Tazim, who are holding hands and standing in front of her as she recovers, letting the baby suckle quietly.

Their eyes narrow, and before the girl leaves, she's made a solemn vow to her twins to marry Turgay, catching the boy—man, she reminds herself—off-guard. The twins seem contented enough with that answer that they let her close enough to speak with her, and Turgay sputters helplessly when Altaïr brings up the promise of marriage.

The girl agrees to marry him seriously, and she realizes that not only will she have five sons now, but one will be married soon enough and giving her grandchildren.

And that's not something she wants to think about lying in bed in pain and feeding her child, so she dusts it off with a promise to help and changes the subject.

That night, her mind trails back to the idea of Turgay getting married, and she winces, holding the new baby in her arms as Tazim and Darim sleep beside each other beside her. Malik lays on her other side, his eyes closed. He's not asleep: she can tell.

"Malik," she murmurs quietly, gazing out at the moon through the window as her husband stirs.

"Yes, Altaïr?"

She looks down momentarily to find her husband watching her, worry etched into his features as he gazes at her. She can see the wrinkles of age starting to creep upon him, the scars he has only serving to highlight what was so long ago, before the start of the new Brotherhood.

"We're getting old."

He blinks, frowning, then rolls his eyes. "You worry about nothing, Altaïr. We are young yet. You can still bear children, and I can still perform more than once a day—"

"Turgay has promised his hand in marriage; we have three young children; our order has grabbed progress that would usually take decades. We are getting old, Malik. When did you last look at yourself?"

There's silence for a moment before she watches him adjust and sigh. She leans against him.

"Why are you so worried about getting old?"

"Why should I not be?"

"With age comes benefits. Wisdom, strength, the ability to stay in the castle with our children and watch them grow."

She snorts. "They grow only when I do not look. I blink, and they are older."

Malik laughs quietly. "You are getting old then. I have heard that youth lasts forever, and that death comes upon you too quickly."

She smacks him softly on the thigh. "You're going to be the biggest, crotchetiest old man I've ever seen."

"And you will be there every step of the way to keep the novices from running away, hm?"

"Someone will have to."

There's a stretch of silence as they cuddle in the nighttime, underneath the blankets they have pulled up and the pillows surrounding them.

"You have changed so much from Solomon's Temple," her husband murmurs.

"We all have," she retorts.

"None so much as you. Motherhood has done wonders for you I fear the Temple did not."

She frowns, looking at him. He meets her gaze with a soft look.

"You have become so much more like a woman than before," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her. "It is… reassuring to see you like this."

She lets him kiss her before asking, "So you'd rather have a woman like the ones from the village over one who has proven herself your equal?"

"I never said that," he says after another kiss. "It is just reassuring to know that our children with have a mother and a father over… two fathers."

She's silent. Malik does have a point. With a sigh, she curls in beside him, waiting for the baby to wake so she can sleep after calming it, and then she makes the biggest mistake of her life:

She blinks.

And when she blinks, it seems as if someone had thrust her four more years into the future.

Turgay is married.

Shahin is promised to be married.

Darim and Tazim have been together for two years in classes.

And Sef is walking, has teethed, and is turning into a spoiled child with all the attention from his four older brothers, his parents, and the order.

The boy is sickly, but usually eager to go out and do things with his family, never wanting to be left behind and refusing to let anything get the better of him. He trails along with Darim and Tazim, watches them fight and eager to start himself—although still enjoying how he can convince his mother to take him into the market for a honey bun or trick his father into spending an extra bit of time with him instead of doing book work.

She almost has a panic attack, the herb from before once again flowing through her system and working wonderfully. Time is slipping through her fingers as she watches Abbas and Maria marry and have a child. Her children are growing up. She's watching the world move around her, and for once, she wants it all to stop so she can take control.

She's not entirely surprised when she just starts sobbing one day before her monthly bleeding. She's always been good about keeping emotions under control, not even batting an eye at Darim's first (of what will be undoubtedly many) broken bones. Yet, now she can't help it, and she's sobbing against Malik's chest, his arm rubbing circles on her back as he shushes her. He probably thinks something is wrong with her, especially since she had been mentioning the fact that everything was moving so fast to him just before she started crying.

Darim panics. Tazim cuddles her. Sef sucks his thumb. Turgay tries to calm her. Shahin simply sits beside her husband. The new wife watches worriedly, quietly panicking.

She doesn't want to have her children grow up so quickly. She wants them to stay little. She wants them to remain small so that she can coddle them and love them just as much as she did before time picked up. She wants to hold her babies again, and she wants to dress them in their clothes, listen to them admire the older assassins without actually having them dress in novice greys.

She doesn't want to think about what will happen when she sees them take the leap.

Nevertheless, she cries for quite some time, not willing to admit that time has gotten away from her. But when she's finally cried everything in her system and her nose is runny and Darim insists on getting her a kerchief to wipe it, she realizes that she's had the best family that she could hope for. She couldn't ask for anything better in her life. She has three strong young children, two journeymen who would die for her, the best husband a woman could ask for, and a daughter-in-law that she spends the evenings talking with after training.

She has been blessed.

Her children weren't a flaw at all, she muses as she thinks back to her first pregnancy all those years ago.

They were the beginning of something better.

* * *

**I've had this one for ages. I really have. It needed to be posted. I meant to post it after I finished all the other stories I had started, but, ha! nevermind that. XD**

**Anyway, R&R if you want. It's much appreciated. :)**


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